


The Winds of Change

by HappyCamper27



Series: The Winds of Change 'verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alive!James and Lily, Cloud Harry, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Gigantic Cast, Harry isn't the Boy-Who-Lived, Marriage of Convenience, OCs galore, Occasional Dark Themes, Storm Harry, a ton of OCs - Freeform, his brother is, not a Wrong-Boy-Who-Lived fic, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyCamper27/pseuds/HappyCamper27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it takes more than a Boy Savior to change things; a storm cloud is on the horizon and the winds of change are blowing…and they won't stop for anything. No matter if Wizarding Britain likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Winds of Fortune

Lily Evans was hailed as the most brilliant witch of her generation. With a mind unmatched by any other in her generation and a temper to match, she was often compared to a fiery storm of vicious ferocity in anything she did.

Lot of help that did her now, though; she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the pregnancy test in her hand. _Positive_. Good lord, what was she going to do? There was only one possibility for the father—a man she had met in a pub a few nights back that she had had a one night stand with…she had never expected anything to come of it!

But now she had a child growing within her…what on earth was she going to do? If word got out that she had a child out of wedlock, she would be heavily ostracized, and in the society of Wizarding Britain, jobs for Muggleborns were already few enough as it was. If she were ostracized for this…she would never be able to get by, let alone support a child. And there was no doubt in her mind that she would have this child—she wouldn't abandon a child that was hers. Never.

/

Lily Evans stared at the face of James Potter. He had approached her not long after graduation, with an…offer, of sorts.

A marriage of convenience. To save face for both of them, and protect both her unborn child and the Potter Family Line, as James…well, James was most assuredly homosexual.

A smirk pulled at her lips.

"You have a deal, Potter." Lily said, grinning fiercely at him. "Just one condition."

He stared at her for a moment. "What?" he sounded as though he were preparing to willingly submit to torture. Her smirk widened.

"You have to propose, _dear_."

/

Lily Evans looked James Potter in the eye as the pastor proclaimed them 'man and wife'. He smiled at her, glancing at the pastor a moment as he announced, "You may now kiss the bride!"

They kissed, chaste and soft. There was no love between them, at least no love of the romantic kind. In time, perhaps, they might come to care for each other as friends, or even family, but never in a true romantic capacity.

But did Lily Potter née Evans regret this choice, to marry the boy who had pretended to have a crush on her for seven years to avoid being outed as homosexual?

No. And she didn't think she ever would.

/

Lily Potter stared at the bundle in her arms. To anyone else, the face she saw would have been somewhat not very good looking in the way that newborn babies are all wrinkly and red.

But to her? To her, her newborn son was the most beautiful person in the world. He was _her world_. She had never thought that she would be able to love so…fiercely. But now…now, she had her son, her elegant cloud, her Yāyún 'Hadrian' Potter.

/

Lily Potter watched her two children, her Yāyún and her Clarence. Of course, James had managed to convince her to have Yāyún's middle name be 'Hadrian', and to call him that in public, but to her, he would always be her elegant cloud.

Clarence was her second child, her second son, and she loved him just as fiercely as she did 'Hadrian'. Clarence was James's son, bearing his bright hazel eyes and black hair. But he had her face, shining out from beneath James's hair.

'Hadrian' had very much inherited his birth father's features—sharp, elegant, and vaguely Asian. His eyes were narrowed and somewhat slanted, and his hair was far more settled than Clarence's or James's. But he had her eyes. Every time she looked at her little cloud's face, her very own bright green eyes stared back at her.

"Lily?" James called, appearing in the doorway. He wore dress robes, ready for the Ministry Ball that they had been called in for. Despite it being the middle of Voldemort's reign, of course.

"Almost ready, James," she soothed him. She turned to Peter, who smiled wanly at her. "You'll keep an eye on them, won't you? Hadrian can be a right curious boy, and Clarence follows his lead more often than not," she warned.

"Of course, Lily," Peter agreed. "I'll make sure they stay out of trouble."

"Right then. Be safe."

And with that, James and Lily Potter left Godric's Hollow at 7:20 P.M, October 31st.

And when they returned, they were greeted by smoke, fear, and a stretch of peace that would last more than a decade.

/

(The winds of fortune are very fickle. Take care that they blow for you, and not for your enemies.)


	2. Chapter 1: The Soft Breeze of a Beginning

Yāyún watched as his little brother Clarence played with the other children. It was Clarence's sixth birthday, and it seemed to Yāyún that the whole of Wizarding Britain was out to celebrate the birthday of their 'Boy-Who-Lived'.

Neither of them remembered much of that night when Peter Pettigrew had betrayed them and their parents to Voldemort; all Yāyún really knew was that the Bad Man (Voldemort) had tried to kill Clarence and had somehow failed, the spell backfiring and killing him instead. For as long as he could remember, Clarence had held the spotlight with people outside their family—not that he minded; he preferred being in the background. Having everyone's attention on him just made him uncomfortable. In fact, if his Mum hadn't told him in no uncertain terms that he would spend at least an hour being at the party after they cut the cake, he would be in his room, reading one of the muggle fantasy books his Mum had gotten him for his own birthday.

"What's the matter, little cloud?" Yāyún started at his Mum's voice. He turned and looked at her, eyes wide.

"Nothing's wrong, Mum," he said, face crinkling into a frown. He didn't like it when people asked him what was wrong when there was nothing wrong. It was just annoying.

"Really? Then why are you over here instead of playing with Clarence and the other kids?" she asked, smiling at him. He shrugged. "Well, if you're not going to play with them, why don't you take your sisters and go upstairs and read? I'll come get you when it's time for presents." Yāyún looked at her hopefully.

"Really? Can I?" he asked, standing up from where he had been sitting by the wall. She laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Of course! Go on—just make sure to take Arianna and Callista with you." Yāyún hugged her tightly.

"Thanks, Mum," he said quickly before darting off to find his twin little sisters. He soon found them giggling under the table that the presents sat on, playing with some of the cake they had been given. He sighed—he'd have to get them cleaned up before he could read, it looked like. Still, an out was an out, and he quickly gathered up his three year old sisters and got them upstairs. It took him fifteen minutes to clean the twins up and put them in clean clothes before putting them in the playroom with their toys.

He dashed to his room, grabbing the book he was reading—a book about a talking mouse and other talking animals who fought against a tyrannical wildcat*-and hurrying back to the playroom so that he could read and keep an eye on his sisters.

As he sat in the corner, he sighed in relief. Don't get him wrong; he loved his brother even though he could be a pain sometimes. But being around so many people and being surrounded by so much noise…it was exhausting for him. Sometimes Clarence and his Da didn't really get it—they seemed to thrive among the crowds and noise. Yāyún could remember one time when his Da had invited a bunch of people to his birthday party and tried to get him to play with the kids they had brought along; he had hid upstairs, reading in his room after opening the presents when everything had gotten to be too much.

He smiled to himself—his Da had gotten a right scolding from Mum for _that_ stunt.

He glanced up as he felt a tugging at his robes. Arianna sat in front of him, blue eyes wide and pleading.

"Yes, Ari?" he asked.

"Stowy?" she asked adorably, tugging at his robes again. He smiled at her, marking his page and putting the book up.

"Story? You want me to read you a story?" he asked. She nodded seriously. "Well, I _suppose_ I could read you a story. What story did you want me to read?"

"Beedle!" Arianna exclaimed, Callista joining in as she stumbled over.

"Beedle the Bard?" he asked, unable to stop the fond smile tugging at his lips. They nodded, and he couldn't stop a quiet laugh at how cute his little sisters were. He got up, placing his book out of their reach so that they wouldn't destroy it, and retrieved the book they wanted him to read from the shelf. He sat down, setting himself by the window so that there was more light, and his two sisters quickly joined him.

He carefully opened the leather-bound book, running his fingers over the gem in the middle as he did so. Eventually, he reached the last of the five stories in the book; this one was his favorite, and the favorite of the twins as well.

"This wan!" Callista insisted, hitting his hand with her own rather clumsily.

"Calli," he warned gently, "no hitting. What do you say?"

"Sowwy…" she said, pouting. "This wan? Pwease?" Yāyún smiled and patted her head.

"Of course. Now, you need to be quiet so I can read, right?"

"Mm!" Arianna agreed. Yāyún laughed softly as he began to read.

"The Tale of Three Brothers," he began. " _"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure._

" _And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him._

" _So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother._

" _Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead._

" _And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And death—"**_ Yāyún stopped as his Mum's voice came from the doorway; he had gotten caught up in the storytelling, as usual.

"Yāyún, Arianna, Callista, it's present time; come on," their Mum said lightly. Arianna and Callista stumbled to their feet, rushing to their mother happily. Yāyún looked at her blankly for a moment before closing the book carefully and standing up. As he put it on the shelf, safely out of the reach of unintentionally destructive toddlers, his Mum spoke up. "You really do love that story, don't you, little cloud?"

Yāyún blinked at her before smiling. "Yeah, it's…" he trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the story that had captured his fascination since he was young.

"I know."

The words were soft, and Yāyún stared at his Mum for a moment, taking in her bright green eyes that they shared and her long, fiery hair.

"Come on, your brother's probably waiting, wondering where we got off to," his Mum laughed, picking up Arianna and Callista.

As they watched his brother open up another toy broomstick, Yāyún couldn't help but think that he hoped that they could stay like this forever—just him and 'Rence and Ari and Calli and Mum and Da, all living happily together in the Potter Estate.

/

As Lily pets the heads of her sons later that night, cuddling them close, she has never been more grateful for the pompous grandstanding of Pureblood society. For if not for the Ministry event that they had shown up to in order to make a point about their being alive, married, and happy, Yāyún and Clarence would be orphans, and her sweet Arianna and Callista wouldn't exist.

The thought of such a world makes her shudder.

/

(For there to be a beginning, there must also be an ending—and a peaceful beginning often leads to a bloody and dark ending.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you guys have seen part of our dear Yāyún's personality; quite introverted (in the sense that he gains his energy by being alone and inside his own head), and rather socially out of touch with his peers.  
> Arianna and Callista were born on November 4th and 5th , 1983, respectively, with thirty minutes between them. Arianna is the elder of the two.   
> *this book is one that I've read and loved since childhood—Redwall, by Brian Jaques!  
> **The Tale of Three Brothers, by J.K. Rowling, does not, in any form, belong to me.


	3. Chapter 2: A Gust that Creates Movement

Apparently, allowing Clarence to play with the other children during his birthday had been a mistake on Yāyún's part. He had made friends with a redhead called Ron Weasley; Yāyún didn't particularly _dis_ like him, but at the same time…the redhead was tactless, and from Yāyún's perspective, a selfish child who clung onto Clarence like a leech.

 _And he kept calling Yāyún 'Harry'_.

It infuriated him.

His _name_ was Yāyún, and he was proud of it—and he had told the redhead to call him that. That he refused to call him by his name…

"Yā? You okay?" Clarence asked, looking at him cautiously. Yāyún blinked at him for a moment, before twitching as the _annoying, tactless leech_ made himself known.

"Why're you calling him that, 'Rence? Isn't his name Harry?" the leech asked. Clarence turned to the leech, and Yāyún took the opportunity to slink away before he gave in to the strange, hot, tense feeling in his belly. He didn't want that _leech_ anywhere near _his family_ , let alone _Clarence_ , and he wanted to hurt and hit and _bite_ and _claw_ and _scratch and_ —

He shuddered as he hunkered down in his bedroom, lying on his bed. Hopefully Clarence would see the light and tire of the _leech_ soon.

/

It seemed Clarence wasn't as smart as Yāyún had thought; even several months later, he was still allowing the _leech_ to cling to him.

Even worse, it was Christmas, and Yāyún couldn't escape from the situation to cool down and avoid giving in to the hot, tense feeling in his belly that made him want to _hurt and hit_ —no, better not to let his thoughts go down that road.

Still…why couldn't Clarence see that the _leech_ was using him?

It made him angry. So _very angry_.

/

It came to a boiling point on his eighth birthday. Clarence had asked for the _leech_ to come over and celebrate _his_ birthday with them. _His_ birthday.

And then, even though he had said _no_ , the _leech_ had been allowed over anyway. His Mum and Da had been in the kitchen, preparing to bring out the cake, and he had been reading one of the books he had gotten when he'd opened his presents when the book was ripped from his hands.

"I don't see why 'Rence thinks you're so incredible." It was the _leech_. "I mean, you're just a bookworm—you can't compare to him; he beat You-Know-Who!"

Something in Yāyún _snapped_. He lunged forward, tackling the younger boy to the floor. His nails dug in as the _leech_ cried out; he struck the boy, snarling. " _You._ _Leech_. _Stay. Away. From. My. Family!"_ with each word, he struck the _leech_ , his vision seemingly clouded by red.

Abruptly, he was wrenched away from the _leech_ , hauled away bodily and restrained as he struggled to get at the _leech_.

"HADRIAN!"

A sharp slap to his face garnered his attention. His wild green eyes focused on his Da's face.

"What on earth were you doing, young man?!"

He bared his teeth in a silent snarl.

"Your room! NOW!"

Banished, he was taken upstairs and firmly shut in his room.

"You'll stay here until you can tell me just _what you were doing_."

And the door shut.

/

It was later that night, after Yāyún had managed to calm down, that a knock sounded from the door. He glowered at the door.

"I'm coming in," his Mum's voice sounded through the solid wood before the door clicked open. She shut the door gently behind her before settling on the bed and watching him as he stared at her coldly.

"So, what was all of that about?" her voice was sharp, hinting at a temper hidden just behind a façade of gentleness.

"All of what?" he demanded just as sharply, temper rising.

"You _know what_." Her voice turned icy, and his face tensed. " _Tell me_ , _Yāyún."_

He growled, that tense, hot feeling snapping through his veins. "He's a _leech_! He's just taking and taking _and taking from my family_ , _my brother_ , and he's horrible, and _annoying_ , and—and—!"

He hit the wall, _furious_.

He didn't see it, but his Mum's face had a look of realization upon it. She stood and wrapped him in a hug. He tensed, still so _angry_.

"Little Cloud, you realize that people aren't possessions, right?" her question made him pause. "We—your sisters, your brother, your father, and I—don't _belong_ to you, dear. We're people; we are owned by no one but ourselves. You can't _own_ a person, Little Cloud. You know that, right?"

He didn't get it.

After a moment, she sighed and released him. "No dinner tonight."

And with that, she left.

/

A few days later, his Mum dressed him in muggle clothing and took him into London, to a small place that had weird squiggly lines above the door. He didn't really know _why_ they were there, only that there were people fighting in the back, and going through weird poses with oddly shaped weapons.

His Mum spoke to a large man in an odd white outfit before signing something. She grabbed his hand they left.

"What did you think?" she asked him, and he shrugged. He was still grounded for his stunt with the _leech_.

The next Monday, he became a student at that dojo, learning Karate and Okinawan kobudou.

Lily Potter would eventually realize her mistake in giving him training in martial arts and with weapons, but by then, it was too late.

He had found a place where he could _excel_.

/

(With forward movement comes change and with change can come fear…but do not fear change; change is the way of the world.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…yeah. Harry has a few anger issues. Also, despite how Harry views Ron, this is NOT Ron-Bashing. Instead, it's simply Harry and Ron rubbing each other the wrong way—they just don't like each other. Not only that, but Ron is still only seven-eight (he turns eight not long before Harry's b-day) and I don't know about anyone else, but I was a bit of a dense brat at that age. And he hero-worships and is jealous of Clarence by turns. It evens out as he gets older, but for now he's a little brat who rubs Harry the wrong way. And that's…a bad thing. For Ron, at least. Because Harry isn't quite sure how to deal with him.  
> …and that leads to violence. Who decided having Fon (who is a HIBARI, of all things!) and Lily having a child was a good thing? Oh, right. Me. *laughs evilly* The wizarding world has a whole ton of reckoning coming, I tell ya.
> 
> Also, in this, Fon is Kyouya's Uncle. Related to him via being his (Kyouya's) mother's brother.
> 
> …does anyone else feel like cackling with Harry now learning how to fight properly? 'Cause I do. *cackles*


	4. Chapter 3: Gaining Momentum (The Wind doesn’t Stop)

Yāyún didn’t really know what to do. His younger brother wouldn’t talk to him; every time he entered the same room, Clarence would huff and stomp out, glowering at him all the while. It was troubling.

When he asked his Mum about it, she told him to apologize. For attacking the _leech_.

Why would he do that? He had only done what he was always told he was supposed to do…protect his younger brother. So why was Clarence mad at him?

…sometimes, his younger brother made no sense. Honestly.

And so, it continued. The younger brother furious with the elder, the elder not understanding why.

Of course, the fact that Yāyún rarely spent many of his early evenings in the Manor didn’t help—nor did the fact that when he _did_ get home, more often than not he collapsed into his bed and slept for a solid ten to twelve hours. His ‘Sensei’ was working him to the bone, but also imposing odd rules, continuously telling him how important self-control was.

…he didn’t get why that was important when it came to physically punishing those who harmed _his_ family, but…he went along with it.

…Grudgingly.

The situation between the brothers eventually grew so tense that their Mum and Da locked them in one of the Manor’s many guest rooms together, and refused to let them out until they ‘made up’.

At first, Clarence was furious—he didn’t want to be in the same room as Yāyún, though Yāyún didn’t really understand why. His Mum and Da had kept telling him to apologize, but why would he apologize for harming the _leech_ that was clinging to _his brother_? (It made no sense. _They_ made no sense. But they were _his_. Why couldn’t they make sense? Everything would be _so_ much _easier_ if they would just _make sense_. Really.)

Eventually, however, Clarence just sat on the bed, defeated even as he glowered at Yāyún, who was silently staring at the door, debating whether the physical force he could muster would be enough to break it down. Just as he concluded that it wouldn’t be possible with his own physical force, and began wondering if it were possible to trigger a bout of accidental magic, or perhaps break it down using one of the bed posts—if he could get one down—Clarence spoke.

“Why?” he blurted, and Yāyún paused in his examination of the room.

“Why what, ‘Rence?” he asked, brow wrinkling.

“Why did you hurt Ron? He’s my friend! Not only that, but he did nothing to you—you just…attacked him! He told me! Why did you do that?!” Clarence demanded, voice rising to a shout as he stood, fists balled.

That brought him to a halt. The _leech_ …had done _what_?

“He…told you _what_?” he almost didn’t recognize his own voice—that feeling was back; it boiled and bubbled and he itched to _bite_ and _rend and tear and hit—_

“You just attacked him!!! That’s what he told me!” Clarence yelled, face red.

…that. _Leech_. Would. _Die_.

The boiling escaped his veins, and for a moment he didn’t realize what was happening—there was just red and light and heat and then there was a horrible, horrible crash and the smell of smoke. He was barely aware of his surroundings as he stormed through the Manor, aware only of the fact that the _leech_ that _dared_ try and _turn his brother against him_ would _pay_. He would _pay—_ with his _life._

He vaguely noted that there was fire around him—red like the setting sun, or blood, he didn’t really know or care—and the sound of yelling followed him. He didn’t pay attention to the fatigue that was quickly gripping his limbs, trying to pull him down. He didn’t acknowledge the blackness that tinged the edges of his vision as he neared the fireplace.

And then—and then—

—Arianna was there. And Callista. They were staring at him with wide, wide blue eyes, teary and scared and _why were they scared_?

It brought him up short. He didn’t have time to think though—the moment he stopped, the moment he tried to think past that overwhelming _fury_ , the blackness surged forward, and he swayed.

He didn’t notice as the fire petered out, sputtering as he wavered and fought to remain conscious above the overwhelming _exhaustion_.

Then everything went black.

///

Clarence stared at his brother, at the figure who, despite all of his quietness, his silence, had always been there for him. Until his older brother’s birthday.

He just didn’t understand—why did his brother attack his friend? He had begged their parents to let Ron come over that day, because he desperately wanted his quickly-becoming-best friend and the brother he loved so dearly to get along.

He knew that they didn’t really like each other, and that Ron had made some rude remarks before, but…he had thought that it was just…

…he didn’t know.

He liked Ron—he really did. And when Yā had attacked Ron, he’d been so shocked, and then _mad_ at Yā…

Except…Yā didn’t usually act like that without reason. And hadn’t Yā deliberately avoided Ron like—like a plague before his birthday? And Yā had _glared_ at Ron too, always seething and glaring, but never attacking, never provoking.

Come to think of it, hadn’t Yā been completely opposed to the idea of Ron coming over for his birthday? He’d glowered and tried to say no…but Clarence had steamrollered right over him.

Oh, Merlin, was this all his fault? He’d been so desperate for them to get along that he’d ignored his older brothers wants…!

But…wait. Ron had said that Yā had attacked him, right out of the blue.

But Yā wouldn’t do that; he wasn’t like that.

So then…what really happened?

Clarence didn’t know. He just knew that he had made a big—no, _huge_ —mistake.

For the first time in years, Clarence felt hot tears prickling at his eyes, threatening to spill and flow down his cheeks embarrassingly. He didn’t know what to do—he’d been so _mad_ , he’d yelled at Yā and then Yā had gotten all scary-quiet-angry and had made the door _burn_ with _red fire_ and—and—

—he just wanted everything to be alright again!

And so, the ‘Boy Savior’ of Wizarding Britain found himself crying, sniffling and shaking with sobs, hoping that when his big brother woke up, he’d hug him and tell him that everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering about Ron, his behavior, and why he was allowed to be at Yāyún’s birthday party: as stated above, Clarence wanted Ron and Yāyún to get along. James and Lily supported this. And they…kind of steamrolled over Yāyún. It’s not going to happen often, but honestly…when you’re young, quiet, and not really disposed to horrible tantrums to try and get your way, sometimes it’s a little hard to go against your parents when they try and get you to do something. I was lucky enough not to have this happen to me often (by way of my parents—my brother is a whole other matter), but it did happen on occasion. Yāyún will learn to put his foot down with his parents; he’s just not quite sure how to do it right now.


	5. Chapter 4: Gaining Momentum (But It's Always There)

Yāyún felt warm. He was wrapped in warmth; it soaked into his body, leaving him limp and pliant.

It was black.

No, not black—just… dark. Absent of light. And…he was heavy. Except…it wasn’t quite heavy; it was…leaden. His hands, his legs, his mouth…they didn’t want to move; it was like trying to lift the big table in the dining room that he and Clarence had played under when they were younger.

Slowly, he became aware of sounds around him; soft, rustling, like…fabric, brushing against fabric or skin. And breathing. Slow and even, marking an even pace as he slowly became more aware.

He opened his eyes, eyelids fluttering against the unexpected brightness of the room he was in. His room. His bed. And…his Mum?

She lay beside him, slumped over the bed, red hair fanning out like a halo around her head. Her breathing was steady, and Yāyún realized that it had been _her_ breathing that he had heard. Was hearing. Ugh.

He grimaced, and tried to sit up, but every muscle in his body screamed at him, and he flopped back helplessly, frustration flickering like a muted noise in the back of his mind. Everything hurt. He just…couldn’t move.

…and oh, how that grated at him.

He struggled to sit up once more but froze as his Mum stirred. As she sat up, blinking blearily, he flopped back onto the bed as his muscles refused to hold him up again. A growl escaped his throat as he almost immediately began another attempt to sit up.

“What are you doing?! Lay down!” his Mum voice cut the previously still air like a knife, and Yāyún froze, his head craning around slowly to stare at his Mum, eyes wide in alarm. She pressed him firmly back into the bed, eyes bright with… _something_ …that Yāyún couldn’t quite identify. “What were you thinking!” she exclaimed.

“First you attack Clarence’s friend, Ron Weasley, and then you fly off the handle and then—and then—you—you!” she broke off, shaking her head. Her fiery hair flew around her, and Yāyún was reminded of the red fire, shimmering in the light and tinting his gaze and the _fury_ …

Oh. Right. _That_.

He didn’t really remember much; it was a blur of anger and fury and the need to _hurt_. He wondered if that should worry him, but discarded it because it had been in defense of his little brother. It was fine, right?

But then…why was his Mum so angry?

“You are grounded, Little Cloud.” Her voice was sharp, and Yāyún looked up at her, realizing with a start that her eyes were shining with tears. “You are grounded for a _very, very long time._ ”

For a moment, Yāyún thought his Mum looked like an avenging goddess, come down from the heavens to wreak havoc upon the wicked.

Then she spoke again. “And, we’re going to talk about just what happened on your birthday.” Yāyún’s face jerked up, his eyes widening. She settled back into her chair, crossing her legs and staring him down with the vivid green eyes shared between them. “Talk, Little Cloud. Now.”

///

Yāyún didn’t really know how he managed to fumble his way through explaining what the _leech_ had said; he felt so… _awkward_ and _off-balance_. Talking wasn’t his thing, apparently.

“So…Ron Weasley told you that you couldn’t compare to Clarence?” she murmured, eyes like shards of emeralds, cold and harsh. “Why that _little_ …” she stood, pushing her hair back. “I’m going to go have a nice, long _talk_ with Molly,” she announced, before turning back to Yāyún. Abruptly, she swooped in and gathered him close in a hug, so warm and firm and… _her_ that he couldn’t help but let himself fall limp in her grasp.

“He was lying, Little Cloud; we love you, we love your brother, we love your little sisters; there is nothing that can change that, and you are certainly all blessings, no matter what anyone else tries to tell you,” she whispered, breath hot on his ear and she squeezed him tight to her before releasing him. “I’ll send James in with some food; _he_ said you’d be hungry, after last night.”

As she left, steps sharp and quick, Yāyún couldn’t help but wonder just who _he_ was. His Mum had said it like the person wasn’t his Da, so…who was it?

He was still struggling to sit upright when his Da entered the room, carrying a bowlful of…macaroni and cheese?

As he smelled the food, his belly growled, and he realized with a start that he was _starving_. The moment his Da passed him the bowl, he dug in, devouring the warm, cheesy comfort food.

///

It wasn’t until late that evening that he finally saw his younger brother. He looked so different from his usual, confident self that Yāyún couldn’t help a thrill of worry shivering through his veins. What was wrong? What had happened? If anyone had hurt his younger brother, he’d—

“I’m fine, Yā.” Apparently his emotions had shown on his face, because Clarence was smiling—if wanly—at him as he sat in the chair beside the bed. “Mum’s just…been on the warpath.”

Yāyún frowned. “Why?”

Clarence shifted uneasily, looking nervous. “Uh, well…um, Ron…he…lied.” Clarence hunched over, hiding his face from view. “He lied about what happened on you birthday,” he rushed, “and Mum got really mad and then Mrs. Weasley got really mad, and there was a whole lot of yelling and I’m really sorry this is all my fault!”

That brought Yāyún up short. What? Clarence’s fault?

He must have said it aloud, because Clarence continued. “Yeah, my fault! I was the one who convinced Mum and Da to let Ron come over! _I_ was the one who kept trying to get you guys to get to know each other! _I_ was the one who let Ron lie to me! _I_ — _I—_ it’s all my fault!”

To both Yāyún’s and Clarence’s horror, Clarence’s face was bright red, tears shining in his eyes as he babbled.

“I just—I just wanted you two to get along!” he cried. “I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry! Just…please! I’m sorry!”

Yāyún was dumbstruck. He hadn’t thought much of the incident on his birthday; he’d thought everyone’d moved past it.

Apparently not, seeing as Clarence was still babbling.

Deciding to put a stop to it, he reached out—tremulously, he noted with that same muted irritation—and grabbed his brother’s hand.

“No.”

Clarence stopped, staring at him. Yāyún could feel the exhaustion pulling him down again, even after an entire day spent in bed. He felt cold.

“It’s not your fault, dummy. It’s the _leech’s_.”

And with that, Clarence launched himself forward, hugging his brother tightly. Yāyún let him, placing his chin firmly on his younger brother’s head as he shook. Everything was as it should be; his family was safe, everything was quiet.

He looked up as the door opened, their Mum standing in the doorway, fiery hair glowing in the sunlight.

“I see you two finally made up,” she smiled, and Clarence jerked upright, face going red. “Go on, Little Prince, your Da’s waiting with dinner. Be a dear and ask Posy to bring some dinner for your brother and I, will you?”

“Yes, Mum!” Clarence agreed, darting to the door. He paused for a moment, glancing back at Yāyún, but he smiled and left the room. They both listened for a moment to Clarence’s heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“Don’t run down the stairs, Clarence!” their Mum called, shaking her head.

There was a thump, then: “Yes, Mum!”

Their Mum laughed, green eyes sparkling. “Your brother will fall down those stairs one of these days,” she said, “and I’ll be there, at his bedside, to tell him ‘I told you so’. After scolding him, of course.”

She crossed the room and settled down on the edge of his bed, warm and gentle. “I had a talk with Molly—Ron’s mum,” she clarified. “You’ll be glad to hear that he’s been grounded for lying and being downright mean. You’re still grounded though,” she warned. “You need to learn to control your temper; the martial arts have helped, but one of these days your hot temper will get you in a lot of trouble, Little Cloud.” She laughed. “Of course, so has mine, so I have no room to talk.” They shared a smile. She reached out and cupped the side of his face in her hand, and for a moment her eyes seemed bright with that _something_ from earlier.

“Well,” she began, laughter in her eyes, “at least we know that we can’t leave you to sort out emotional problems without someone keeping an eye on you; it just leads to trouble.”

///

(But even if one can’t control the wind, and can’t let themselves be buoyed up by it, it is possible to simply allow oneself to be with the wind—for the wind is always there. Always present, just as it is always moving.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter; I'm intending on updating fairly quickly since I would like to get this one even with its twin on FF.net, which is at Chapter 14 currently.  
> See ya!


	6. Chapter 5: Resting in the Clouds

It took Yāyún two days before he could stand on his own without collapsing, and another three before he could move any distance without thoroughly exhausting himself. During that time, he managed to read his way through the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which his Mum had gotten him for his birthday.

But even that did little to alleviate the itchiness clawing at his skin. He couldn’t move, he was pinned, and it _grated_ at him. It chewed and gnawed and bit—

He just wanted to move and run and be free to do as he pleased.

Even worse, his Mum told him that he was to stay in bed as much as possible, in an attempt to let him ‘ _recover ’_.

So, by the time he was allowed to _move on his own_ , he was in a decidedly _bad mood_. And restless; very, very _restless_.

And it showed—when he was moving, he prowled the corridors, stalking them like some large, humanoid cat, as his brother liked to point out teasingly. He didn’t want to stop moving; the itchiness clawed at him even now, pushing him to move, to try and make it _go away_.

But something nagged at him—his sweet little sisters, Arianna and Callista. Callista was fine; she had run up to him when he had finally been allowed to go downstairs to dinner and hugged him, babbling about pretty red fire and how her big brother was _so cool_. But Arianna…she cowered. She hid from him, pulling away every time he drew close. It worried him; she shouldn’t be afraid of _him_ , he wouldn’t hurt his little sister!

And apparently, his Da had noticed the behavior as well, because approximately a week after his ‘blowup’, his Da brought him down into the living room, and then collected the twins, sitting them across from each other. True to their recent form, Callista clambered into Yāyún’s lap, fiercely affectionate, while Arianna scooted to the edge of the cushy sofa.

Callista noted this, and her big blue eyes glared at her sister, seeming to almost take offense to Arianna’s timidity.

“Awi!” she complained, pouting cutely. Arianna shook her head mutely, and their Da swooped in a picked her up, settling her down onto his lap.

“What’s the matter, Na-na?” he asked. She curled in on herself, blue eyes looking down and away from Yāyún.

Yāyún frowned, trying to figure out what to do. It didn’t make sense to him; she should know that he wouldn’t hurt her—she was his little sister. Except that she clearly didn’t know that. And he didn’t know how to get it across to her.

Ugh, why did words have to be so _difficult_?

He was about to speak, when Callista did it for him. She slid down from his lap and moved over to Arianna, pouting at her.

“Yā-Yā wouldn’t hurt us, Awi!” she exclaimed, fisting her tiny hands. “Yā-Yā’s our big bwother! And big bwothers don’t hurt little sisters!” she turned to Yāyún, blue eyes glistening with tears. “Tell her, Yā-Yā!”

He steeled himself as he looked at her big, blue eyes. He could only hope he didn’t somehow manage to mess this up. He slid off the sofa and kneeled in front of Arianna, looking her in the eyes.

“I won’t hurt you, Ari.” Yāyún said firmly, reaching up to hold her sweet little face in his hands. “I won’t hurt my family. And you’re my little sister.” Arianna stared at him mutely. “Do you really think I would hurt you?”

And slowly, so very slowly, she shook her head.

///

Lily Potter sighed, staring at the cell phone in her hand. She had called the number _he_ had given her, but she had only gotten voicemail—he hadn’t answered. She had called in hopes that he could give her more tips, since the last time they had spoken, he had started babbling about fire and meditation and _anger-management._ He had really stressed the meditation and anger-management, paired with getting her Little Cloud to let his body heal, since his outburst with the red fire had apparently placed a great deal of stress on his body.

She thanked whatever deity was out there that they had stayed in contact, because both she and James had panicked after seeing Yāyún collapse to the floor, completely unconscious. She was also grateful that she had enrolled Yāyún into martial arts as an attempt anger-management; she had managed to weasel something about movement and exercise out of _him_ before _he_ had hung up on her. Apparently it helped. How, she had no idea. But if it helped, she would keep her dear Little Cloud in martial arts. And find some books on meditation.

Now, where to start?

///

(Sometimes, floating above the clouds is an ideal way to relax, to ignore the world below. But if one does not occasionally return below, one may miss so many things of import.)


	7. Chapter 6: A Forward Moving Breeze

With the situation with Arianna mostly resolved, Yāyún felt himself relax. Of course, not all was well; Arianna was still skittish, not quite able to let herself trust her older brother not to hurt her just yet, which chafed at Yāyún horribly.

She was _his_. Why would she be afraid of him? And yet, she was. Slightly.

…sometimes, his family just _did not_ make sense.

///

Scratch that. _No_ _one_ made any sense.

His Mum and Da had whisked him, Clarence, Arianna, and Callista off to the towering, disaster-waiting-to-happen known as The Burrow.

He had thought _one leech_ was bad.

He was wrong.

There was an entire _family of them_.

///

It seemed that, perhaps, his initial impression had been wrong.

It wasn’t an entire _family_ of _leeches_. Just three.

The _leech_ , the _leech_ ’s younger sister (whom he had privately dubbed _leech #2_ ) who had an unsettling fascination with Clarence, and their mother, who was overbearing and had _touched him_ when he had very much made it clear he didn’t want to be _touched_.

No, correction: she hadn’t _touched him_. She had _squeezed him to within an inch of his life_.

He still disliked the _leech_ the most, though.

And the others were _alright_ , if a bit much. He could admit that.

///

Why had he thought the two known as The Twins were _alright_? They were horrific. They grated at his need for peace, for quiet, with their very _existence_. They seemed to be loudness and chaos personified, bothering him no matter where he went.

At least Clarence was being more cautious of the _leech_. He still wasn’t allowed to kill the _leech_ , unfortunately.

He would just have to settle for scaring him. Viciously.

After all, their Mum and Da had never told him he couldn’t warn the _leech_ off, did they?

///

As much as he disliked the two known as The Twins, he could admit they had their uses. By the end of their visit, he had promptly gained to co-conspirators in the aim to make the _leech_ ’s life _hell_.

Apparently, they just wanted to prank the _leech_.

Yāyún didn’t care; so long as they wanted to warn the _leech_ off, he could tolerate them.

Maybe. Barely.

///

Yāyún watched with a fierce satisfaction as Clarence shunned the _leech_ ’s presence for the presence of ones more suitable—such as Neville (the mouse), or their ‘cousins’, Alcor Black, and his twin sister, Mizar (the cats).

It was Clarence’s seventh birthday, and the four were quickly forming a group that was far more acceptable to Yāyún than the parasitic relationship between Clarence and the _leech_.

He still didn’t understand why Clarence still let him around sometimes.

Something about trying to ‘get him to be a better person’.

…Still didn’t make sense.

///

Yāyún felt his eyebrow twitch. It was a week before Christmas, and his Mum and Da were out for the day. This left him to babysit the youngest of the family, Arianna, Callista, and Clarence.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t _just_ Arianna, Callista, and Clarence. Yāyún’s godfather, alongside Clarence’s and Arianna’s and Callista’s godfathers, had gone out with his Mum and Da, leaving him to babysit not only Arianna, Callista, and Clarence, but their ‘cousins’, Alcor and Mizar, Alcor and Mizar’s younger brother and sister, Polaris (who was 5) and Adhara (who was 3), who were all the children of Sirius Black (who was godfather to Yāyún and Callista). Thankfully, Clarence and Arianna’s godfather, Remus Lupin, was unmarried and childless.

Less work for him, thankfully.

However, because Yāyún was only eight, and it was Christmas Break, and Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley had gone off to shop, they had left their children with them as well, since apparently that was a _thing_ that had been agreed upon by Yāyún’s Mum and Da.

As Yāyún hid crankily in the playroom, keeping an eye on Arianna, Callista, Polaris, Adhara, and the _leech #2_ , reading while they played, he wondered why his parents hated him that day. What he had done to deserve _this_.

He didn’t know.

He just knew it was bad.

///

Apparently, the _leech #2_ wasn’t as bad as he had thought. She was small, and red-haired, and fierce. Strong and fierce and fiery, like his Mum.

Even if she did have a slightly creepy obsession with his brother.

…that could be trained out, though. She was… _interesting._ He might just keep her.

And it had nothing to do with the way her big brown eyes had stared up at him as she had asked him, very sweetly, if he’d stop calling her _leech #2_ while smiling in a sickly sweet fashion.

She was fiery. Like red and green and rubies and emeralds, all swirling through her and flashing brightly at him, like they were reflecting sunlight.

Almost like blue and green and sapphires and emeralds coiled around and through and between Arianna and Callista. Or like soft yellow citrines with hints of deep amber rested deep within Clarence.

It made him wonder whether rubies and amethysts and red and violet ran through him, flaring brightly at whomever dared look close enough.

…of course, he’d dubbed her Kitten instead.

She hadn’t liked it.

///

The Twins (and the Kitten) had seemingly entrenched themselves in Yāyún’s life without him realizing; by the time Yāyún’s ninth birthday rolled around, he found himself surprised to realize that he _wanted_ them there, and that he would, for heaven’s sake, _miss_ them if they were to vanish off the face of the earth.

This caused him to stop, and think for a moment.

For as long as he could remember, those that constituted as _his_ had always been _his family_. They were his, his to protect, his to reprimand, his to guard. But now, there were those who had _become_ his, who weren’t part of _his family._

But yet, they were still _his_.

The Twins reminded him of purple, of indigo—constantly shifting, never letting him pin them down. It irked him, but at the same time, he wanted them to continue, to provide their welcome challenge.

And his Kitten was like blood and fire and rubies—sharp and fierce, contrasted by leaves and emeralds and protection.

But they were still _his_.

And he was _theirs_ , as far as it went—it was a two way street, though those that were his didn’t seem to realize it. They simply took his protection, his loyalty for granted while trying to shrug off his possession that was his selfishness for protecting them.

_He_ owned _them_ , and _they_ owned _him_.

He gave them everything, and they would do the same.

It was right, it settled and clicked in his chest, like gentle collars, reminding him of those who were _his_ , but at the same time those gentle collars ached and chafed, leaving him yearning to be free and away from them.

They knew that. They should know that. But they didn’t.

It confused him; it was natural, _right_ , so why didn’t they _get it_?

And yet, as he and The Twins found themselves drawn into yet another battle of wits, and his Kitten looked on, smiling brightly, with Arianna and Callista cheering and Clarence laughing, and his Mum and Da grinning, he couldn’t help but be content.

This was _right_ (wrong). He could be _content_ with this (no). He wouldn’t wander off, leaving the ones that were _his_ to fend for themselves (he would).

Everything in his head contradicted itself.

But that was okay; he had _them_. And, for the moment, that was enough.

///

(Moving forward is difficult; looking behind is easy; staying in the moment is…odd. To move forward, you must let go of the past. To look behind, you disregard the future. To stay in the moment, you must do both; let go of the past, and disregard the future. It is freedom, but it is also a chain.)


	8. Chapter 7: Pushed by a Strong Breeze

Yāyún felt himself twitch as he glared at the two smirking redheads in front of him. He still didn’t know why he liked them; they were annoying, and loud, and chaotic, and—the list went on.

They were irritating. And yet they were acceptable.

Sometimes, he didn’t understand his own head.

“Oh come now, Harry-kins,” cooed one of them, drawing another twitch. That was another thing he didn’t get; for as long as he could remember, his Mum and Da had told him to let himself be called by ‘Hadrian’ or ‘Harry’ by people outside their family, when his name was Yāyún. They said it was because ‘Yāyún’ was meant to be used by family, or by close friends, but he still didn’t get it. “It wasn’t _that_ bad,”

“Fred, I don’t think our dear little Harry-kins appreciates our genius,” said the other.

“I don’t think he does either, George,” agreed the first one. “But our dear little Harry-kins needs to lighten up—”

“And pink hair will definitely help!” the second one cheered.

For a moment, Yāyún thought of bringing this to the parents—they were in the next room, it would be so _easy_ —but a deep, primal part of him rebelled at the idea. This was _his_ problem, _he_ would deal with it.

He glanced around, checking if any of the other siblings were near, before turning back to The Twins. They must have seen the dark, cold glint in his eyes, because they started backing away, smirks morphing into challenging grins.

“Why, I do believe that our little Harry-kins is _mad_ , George!”

“Indeed, brother dear!”

It was those words that prompted Yāyún to pounce. He darted forward, sending The Twins scrambling from the room, laughing. He chased them, attacking and hunting them, playing a game of cat and mouse. Except that they weren’t mice, and he wasn’t a cat.

In the end, it was a draw—they tried to lead him into a trap, attempting to double-team him, but he escaped their tickling grasps, laughter pulling at his breath as he returned the favor by attacking their weak spots; The Twins, however, gave as good as they got, and by the end of it they were a limp pile of limbs on the floor of the library, huffing and heaving with suppressed laughter and exhaustion.

Yāyún let himself lay there, staring up at the ceiling as he felt his head contradicting itself again.

He wanted to just lie there ( _he didn’t_ ). He wanted to lounge, and enjoy this warmth while it lasted ( _he hated it, wanted it to burn and thrash and writhe—)_.

It made his head hurt.

“Hey, Fred,” one of The Twins murmured, something like triumph trickling into his voice.

“What?”

“We got him to laugh.”

A pause.

“You’re right. We did.”

“Mission accomplished?”

“Yeah.”

Another long pause, their breaths sounding inordinately loud in the quiet.

“We need to get him on a broom. Can you imagine him as a Seeker?” the other twin choked on laughter.

“He’d be a right beast on the pitch, that’s for sure,” he snorted.

“…Can you imagine the other teams faces if he were a Beater?”

“He’d kill them all.”

They both broke out snickering, before one of them paused thoughtfully.

“Think we can convince Mum to let him over for a friendly match over the summer?”

“…We’d have to be on his team; I am _so_ not facing him on a broom.”

“Definitely.”

///

As it turned out, The Twins _did_ manage to convince their Mum to let Yāyún and Clarence over for a day visit during the summer.

As Yāyún was coaxed out of the disaster-waiting-to-happen, he was greeted by his Da, the two eldest Weasley children (whom he vaguely remembered being called Bill and Charlie, but he hadn’t really been paying attention), the _leech_ , and his brother; as soon as his Da saw him being reluctantly herded out of the house by the Twins, he began to speak.

“Alright, so, since we don’t have enough players to have two full teams, we’ll split it half and half; Bill, you and I will choose our teams, okay?”

The eldest Weasley child nodded, and they began choosing players; in the end, Yāyún ended up on Bill’s team with the _leech_ and the other Weasley child—Charlie, he believed. He was apparently a ‘Seeker’, whatever _that_ meant.

And he was on the _leech_ ’s team. And he wasn’t allowed to do anything to him while they were in the air.

 _That_ was annoying, if nothing else.

But as he rose into the air on the old, rickety brooms of the Weasley family, Yāyún felt something in him release.

 _This_ … _this_ was _good_.

His Mum had never let him on a broom, citing that no child of hers would be on a broom before they were twelve; and she had apparently browbeaten his Da into it too—at least while they were at home. It seemed that this was another matter.

For a moment, he forgot what he was doing, as he rose into the air, letting the wind caress his face. It was freedom, pure and simple—the capability to go anywhere and do anything he chose. This was _flight_ , and while purely subjective and not a permanent thing by any means, it made something in his heart, his _soul_ , soar and cry its freedom to the heavens.

A shout from one of the other players brought him back to the present, and he snapped his eyes open and stared downwards at the people below him.

He just had to catch the little gold ball, right? His Da had called it a ‘Practice Snitch’, whatever that was supposed to mean, but he had said all he had to do was _catch_ it. _Hunt_ it.

He could _do_ that. He could _totally do_ that.

A flicker of gold caught his eye from by the ground, fluttering and flickering in the bright sunlight, and he dove, flattening himself to the broom instinctively. The air whistled past him, pushing him and embracing him, and he exalted in the exhilaration, the adrenaline, that pumped through his veins.

As his fingers closed around the little gold ball, he felt triumph flutter in his chest. His brother let out a complaining grumble from where he had pulled to a stop, having been chasing the little gold ball as well.

And as Yāyún let his feet touch the ground once more, he knew where he belonged—in the sky, floating free and high.

Without a doubt.

///

(Flight is a tricky thing. True flight, flight by one’s self, without the assistance of outside objects, is seen as a feat worthy of the sorcerers and mages of old; a truly remarkable feat. And in humanity’s attempts to attain such a thing, we have managed what are merely poor facsimiles of the real thing.)


	9. Chapter 8: Family Matters

Things were loud around Potter Manor that year; The Twins were over more often than not, leading to chaos and much laughter.

Yāyún still felt torn over them—they were annoying, but they were fine. It was confusing. He didn’t like it at all.

He didn’t have much choice, however.

///

It was Arianna and Callista’s birthday—they celebrated it on the fourth, so that they didn’t have to celebrate for two days—and Yāyún felt content. Arianna was calmer around him, less skittish, and they both seemed to appreciate the small bracelets he’d gotten them, with a sapphire and an emerald set into the metal of each. In fact, they both seemed delighted by the gifts.

As they turned their attention to the unnamed package that came for them every year and ripped it open with childish glee, their Mum stiffened. Yāyún frowned—something was _wrong_.

“Mummy, why is there red stuff all over our present?” Callista asked, her voice high and clear in the abrupt silence. Their Mum moved forward abruptly, picking up the package.

“Mummy?” Arianna asked, distressed. Their Mum stopped, her face twisting.

“It’s alright, dear. Mummy’s just…going to clean it off for you, okay?” she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Okay!” Callista chirped, seemingly pleased by her words, even as Arianna shifted uncomfortably. When their Mum reappeared, she was holding two soft bundles that she handed to the twins.

Callista laughed happily as she opened hers up—it was a bright blue sundress, with light green accents. Arianna smiled as she opened hers, the colors the precise reverse of Callista’s.

Yāyún blinked at their Mum. Something had happened, and he wasn’t sure what. But he was willing to let it go.

For now.

///

Yāyún scowled at the _leech_. Clarence had let him come over again, but they were all being watched very carefully. The _leech_ sent him an almost _superior_ look as he followed Clarence around, as though he thought Yāyún was jealous.

Yāyún didn’t have much time to put thought into it, as he was promptly caught by the Twins, who dragged him off to help them implement some prank or another.

It ended up being another game of tag.

///

It was Yāyún’s tenth birthday, and his Mum and Da were taking them all on a trip to Diagon Alley after the quiet affair that was his party. As they walked down the cobbled streets, their Da explained to him.

“You see, it’s a Potter Family Tradition!” he said proudly. “Every child is given the option to get a pet on their tenth birthday, or wait until they go to Hogwarts to receive an owl to communicate with their family.”

He ushered Yāyún into one of the side alleys—Vertic Alley—and they walked past the shops, eventually entering into one called ‘Animo’s Arcane Assortment of Animals’.

It rustled and chirped and meowed and croaked and hissed, the sounds sharp and nearly overwhelming to Yāyún’s senses.

It was time to find a pet.

///

The next day, Yāyún stared at the tiny kitten that he had chosen. It was a female, a purebred Russian Blue kneazel that stared at him with wide eyes from a fluffy face.

He wondered if feeling like he wanted to eat it was a good thing.

///

The summer that year was loud and chaotic, but in a good way. Yāyún had been able to escape to the disaster-waiting-to-happen many times, and had been allowed on one of their brooms, and the wind caressing him had helped… _settle_ him.

He no longer felt so unbalanced, so in conflict inside his head. He was calmer, less given to hair-trigger violence, and he spent less time chasing the Twins as simply lounging in their presence.

It was loud and chaotic, yes, but it was also quiet and peaceful.

///

Yāyún let a discontented growling sound escape his throat. The Twins had left for Hogwarts in September, and ever since he had watched the red steam train disappear, taking them with it, he had felt restless.

He had been unable to truly _settle_ , and his temper had been on a hair-trigger for a time as he accustomed himself to the odd gap their leaving left in his daily life. He hadn’t realized just how much he had come to expect them to be peeking around every corner, ready to drag him off into some new mischief.

His kneazel—whom he had named Alice, after that curious Muggle girl in one of the books his Mum had gotten for him—meowed as he picked up one of the ridiculously colored mittens that the Twins had bought him for his tenth birthday.

He threw it at the window before huffing as it just bounced off, causing no damage to the glass.

There was no satisfaction in the action, and he stalked away.

He would just have to wait for winter break.

///

When the Twins reappeared for winter break, Yāyún wondered why he’d ever, dare he say it, _missed_ the pair. They were chaos incarnate.

…but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

///

It was Yāyún’s eleventh birthday.

He had been woken rather violently by Callista bouncing on his bed, and Arianna shaking him, both chanting excitedly.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

They cheered as he sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Callista looked up at him in a way that he thought should be illegal, her eyes big and wide as she pleaded for him to carry them down to breakfast. He said no. She said please.

He caved.

As he carried the twin girls down to breakfast, all three still wearing their pajamas, he wondered if he was spoiling his younger sisters. When the twins giggled and laughed as he gently placed them in their seats, the house elves serving breakfast, he shook his head.

He wasn’t spoiling them.

///

James watched as the first of Lily’s children— _his_ children, he had _raised_ them—opened his Hogwarts letter alongside a missive from Durmstrang. He glanced at Lily’s face, slim and pretty. He wondered if he could have fallen in love with her had he actually been attracted to her, if he had been straight.

In the end, it didn’t matter, he decided. After all, while they may not love each other, they were fond of each other, and she had given him so many incredible children. Granted, most of them weren’t his by blood, but it didn’t matter. He had raised them, claimed them as his both publically and in his head.

Sure, he didn’t quite understand Hadrian’s quietness—he didn’t really think of their eldest by the name Lily had given him, and was grateful that they had taught him to answer to ‘Hadrian’—and had worried about how to get the quiet child to open up and show the world the cheerful child that lay beneath, but he _loved_ the boy.

In every way that mattered, they were _his_. They would eventually find out the truth, and he wondered if they would hate him and Lily for keeping the truth from them for so long, for hiding the fact that they were all only half-siblings, and that aside from Clarence, they weren’t his children by blood.

And then he would think about how they raised them, how they had taught them that family _mattered_ , and felt a small sense of reassurance. Hadrian was getting close to the age they had agreed to tell him at, and James could only hope the precocious child wouldn’t hate them for concealing the truth.

In the meanwhile, he would try and lighten his children’s lives, try to make them laugh and smile and feel safe.

After all, he was their father in every way that mattered.

Just not in blood.

///

(The wind cannot stop. It must forever move forward, even at the risk of losing everything that it cares for. The tethers of emotion, of obligation—they are all discarded as the wind sweeps forward, ever onward.)


	10. Interlude: Of Mice and Men

Tsuna curled up under a tree, huddling over his bruised torso. The other children at school had been mean again today, calling him names and hitting him when he tried to ignore them like his Mama had told him to.

They hadn’t _always_ been mean to him; he could vaguely remember a time when the other children had played happily with him, smiling at him and laughing happily. Now though…they sneered and snickered, their smiles corrupted into cruel smirks as they hurt him.

He shivered—he was _so cold_. It was a warm day, but he could barely remember the feeling of warmth on his skin, much less in the pits of his bones. The sun shone down at him, mocking him for the chill that pervaded his very being, like he had been frozen inside.

It was a bruised Sawada Tsunayoshi that returned to his house that day, holding back helpless tears of loneliness and despair, his Mama none the wiser.

///

Hibari Kyouya felt something deep inside himself _purr_ as he watched over Namimori. It was something that had been passed down the Hibari line for generations—they protected their town, their _home_ , their _territory_ with a ferocity that was nearly unmatched by all others, be it by legal means, or _il_ legal.

He was young, but his Okaa-san had been teaching him how to fight, and this was his first time being allowed to patrol the more rundown side of town on his own.

As he prowled the dirty streets, he wondered why his Otou-san had been so _against_ him learning to uphold the family tradition. It wasn’t as if the crowding herbivores, with their knives and sticks and guns, would be a match for him and Okaa-san— _they_ were _carnivores_ , and they were _meant to hunt_ herbivores. It was natural!

As he locked on to his first prey, a group of Yakuza conducting a drug deal in a small back alley, he put his Otou-san’s squeamishness down to the fact that he wasn’t a Hibari. After all, how could they expect him to understand something that wasn’t in his blood, even if it _did_ make him more herbivorous than Kyouya would like?

He pushed it out of his mind as he pounced, letting the thrill of adrenaline sweep him away into a swift, roaring river of battle and bloodlust, his blood roaring in his ears as he gave himself over to the predator inside him.

He was a Hibari, after all.

///

Alcor Black watched his sister, Mizar, as she plotted her next prank against their father. Normally, he might be interested in joining her, but there was something laying on his mind.

Their eldest cousin, Hadrian—or Ya-yoon, as he had constantly corrected them—was going off to Hogwarts this autumn, and he…didn’t really know how to take that. For as long as he could remember, Hadrian had been a nearly omnipresent figure in his and Mizar’s lives, watching over them with a sharp eye whenever they were placed in his care. Alcor wondered if Clarence felt similarly—after all, their younger cousin was far closer to his enigma of a brother than they were.

And yet, at the same time, he was excited. He could feel it rising in him, quickening his pulse. Just _one more year_. One more year, and he and Mizar and Clarence and Neville would be at Hogwarts, decked out in red and gold at the Gryffindor House table at the welcoming feast, sitting by the warm fire in the comfortable armchairs that his Da had told him about in the Gryffindor Common Room, and learning how to use their wands and perform magic!

He couldn’t wait, not one moment more. But he had to; there was still one more year between him and seeing Hogwarts for the first time.

For a moment, he wondered if Hadrian would be amenable to sneaking a Muggle photo-chimera (that’s what it was called, right?) in, to take pictures and send them back for him to see.

“Hey, Al! Come on, I have an idea…” Mizar called, tugging him over. Alcor grinned at her, letting his thoughts of Hogwarts and his eldest cousin fall away. There was _pranking_ to be done.

///

A boy curled under a bed, trembling. He could feel his breath coming in trembling gasps, ripping their way from his throat harshly. He heard the door to the house creak open, slow and soft, and footsteps thud on the wooden planks of the floor below.

He closed his blue eyes, shaking. They were _coming_ , _coming_ for him, to finish off _what they started_ and he _was trapped—_

Footsteps made their way up the stairs, likely following the trail of blood that was there. His breath hitched as he thought of that trail, of the one who had made it—his father, _oh god, his father_ , he _was dead dead deadde eaddea ddeadeadead_ —

The door to his room opened, and a quiet curse sounded out. The person walked around, surveying the gory sight, staring at the corpse that _he knew_ lay in the room, limp and cold and _deaddeaddeaddeaddead_.

He shuddered, trying to calm his breathing, to remain undetected and alive for just a little bit longer.

The footsteps stopped, right beside his hiding place. He stared at the boots of the person—they were leather, with thick rubber soles and utilitarian threads, the polished black gleaming in the soft light from the barely opened curtains.

He froze as the legs bent, and hands appeared on the floor; they had _found him_ , they were going to _kill him_ —

A sharp, strong face appeared, eyes as blue as his own gleaming in the light as he smiled.

“Hey there,” he said, reaching a large, gloved hand out to him. “Why don’t you come with me?”

This man, who was he? He was going to kill him, right?

…he looked so much like his _father_ , who laid cold and limp and unmoving, eyes blank and clouded in death, that he couldn’t help moving forward, couldn’t help the tears that rose in his eyes.

The man pulled him out gently, picking him up and cradling him in warm, strong arms. He heard voices, but he didn’t care. This man, this man who looked like his _father_ , he wasn’t going to hurt him. And for a moment, as helpless sobs wracked his body, he could almost fantasize that _this man_ , that _this man_ was his father, holding him and comforting him, and that the corpse that lay in a puddle of blood was a stranger, unknown and not leaving a gaping wound in his chest.

As the world faded around him, he wondered if that was _really_ the case, that his father had somehow escaped and come back for him, with reinforcements to _save him_ , and that corpse was collateral.

He desperately wanted it to be true, for reality to bend to his whims.

And maybe, for just a little bit, he would pretend.

Pretend that his father wasn’t dead.

Pretend that he wasn’t alone.

Pretend…pretend that everything was _alright_.

///

_(The plans of Mice and Men often go awry; this is no news. But when the plans of Fate herself are tangled and wound and torn—the result is something not even Fate can foresee.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the interlude! Next time, we’ll see Yāyún’s trip to Diagon Alley, and the beginning of the next arc: The Hogwarts Arc!  
> *credit to Mukuro234 (on FF.net) for helping me come up with that name*


	11. Chapter 9: When the Wind Meets the Sun

Yāyún couldn’t help the relief that flickered over his face when the red-headed Twins came into sight, surrounded by their family. It was strange, and he immediately scorned the emotion, but it still fluttered behind his ribs, an odd relaxing feeling—it left him feeling oddly warm.

He, his Da, and his Mum were out in Diagon Alley, taking him out to get his school supplies for his first year. They had already stopped by Gringotts, requisitioning the necessary gold for the shopping. The bustle of Diagon Alley was expected, though he didn’t like the close-pressing-ness of the crowds of witches and wizards, out for summer shopping.

He hadn’t expected, however, to see the horde of red-heads flocking through the Alley, nor for the Twins to immediately take notice of him. They bounced over, waving boisterously.

“Hello, hello, Harry-kins!” chirped one of them, slinging an arm around Yāyún’s shoulders.

“And why are you out on such a fine day?” asked the other, mirroring his twin.

“I was thinking the very same thing, George! Why would our dear Harry-kins be out—”

“—when he so clearly despises sunlight, what with the amount of time he spends—”

“—holed up in his room, like a vampire?”

Yāyún scowled. Why had he missed these two again? It escaped him. Meanwhile, his Da was laughing, and his Mum smiled gently. Apparently they found the Twins’ penchant for irritating him amusing. He shrugged them off, stepping forward sharply.

“We are out to get my school supplies,” he said shortly. The Twins traded a sinister smirk, and promptly turned to his parents.

“Say, Lord Potter—”

“—and Lady Potter, don’t forget her, Fred—”

“—would you mind if we tagged along for your trip?”

“To hang out with Harry-kins, of course.”

His Da and his Mum shared a look, before his Mum spoke. “Don’t you have your own supplies to get today?” she asked pointedly.

“Nope!” chirped one of them. “All of our books are Charlie’s old ones,”

“And they were Bill’s before that.”

“Not to mention that all we needed—”

“Were some longer robes—”

“Which Mum already got—”

“And some new Potions ingredients—”

“Which Mum can pick up without us!”

And so began the shopping trip from hell. The Twins made snarky remarks, teasing Yāyún at every turn— _especially_ when they had gone into Madame Malkins. Standing on that stool with a girl fitting a robe on him had never been more irritating, with the Twins taunting him about having a girl at his feet, etc.

It made him want to _throttle_ the two. He held himself back, however, because he knew that he would be reprimanded should he do so in front of his parents.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t do it later, out of their sight. Or, even better, at Hogwarts.

Finally, however, they were at their second to last stop of the day. Ollivanders. Cautiously, Yāyún stepped into the rickety old shop, twitching at the shivery tingle that ran down his spine. Heat coiled in his belly, seething.

The other four followed, and the Twins seemed to be preparing for something, trading mischievous looks with his Da. At the same moment he stepped into the middle of the room, Yāyún felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, prickling and sending a thrill of adrenaline through him as he whipped around, eyes fixing icily on the old, silver haired man who stood behind him. The heat hissed, seething more furiously as he tensed. The man froze, silvery eyes focused on him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice rasping almost like wind in tree branches. He turned to Yāyún’s parents. “Ah, Lord Potter; eleven inches, mahogany. Pliable. Especially good for transfiguration.” Yāyún’s Da nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “And Lady Potter,” the man murmured, “willow, ten and a quarter inches. Swishy, with a propensity for charm work. How is it working for you, my dear?”

“Very well, thank you,” his Mum thanked the man, smiling. The man turned to the Twins, eyes narrowing.

“Ah, yes. Twin dogwood wands, fourteen inches apiece. Quite mischievous, if I do say so myself. I hope you haven’t come for a replacement, boys?” the Twins shook their heads, their hands going protectively to the sides, where their wands undoubtedly rested.

“No sir,” they chorused. The man turned back to Yāyún, a speculative gleam coming into his eye that set the heat in his belly seething once more. He moved past Yāyún, stepping past the desk.

“And I assume you have come for your first wand, Mister Potter?” without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Which is your wand arm?” Yāyún didn’t move, staring at the man. He seemed to sigh, and turned to him. “I’m fitting your wand, so. Which is your wand arm?” he asked again, frowning. Reluctantly, Yāyún held out his right arm, and a tape measure promptly flew up and began to measure him as the man rummaged around in the back of the shop.

Yāyún batted the tape measure away when it started trying to measure the distance between his nostrils, just as the old man came to the front with a stack of slim boxes. He sent Yāyún a scolding look, before passing him the first wand.

“Walnut, dragon heartstring. Ten and a half inches, rather stiff. Go on, give it a wave!” but before Yāyún could do so, the wand was snatched from his grasp. “No, no…” he pulled out another wand. “Try this one; cherry, phoenix feather. Eleven and a quarter inches, swishy.” And again, the wand was snatched from Yāyún’s grasp before he could do more than lift his hand. Yāyún twitched. This was rapidly getting on his nerves, and more than a few times he was ready to hurt somebody.

Of course, there were a _few times_ where he rather enjoyed the effects of the wands he _did_ get to wave. Two, in particular. The first one—hawthorn, dragon heartstring; 12 and three-quarter inches, flexible—had sent some of the wand boxes flying off the shelves, several hitting the old man in the back and head. It had prompted snickering from the Twins, and even a smiled from his Mum as the old man frowned and took the wand back.

The other—cherry, dragon heartstring; eight inches, supple—had sent out a jet of red and violet flames, writing and twisting through the air like fighting dragons. It had set the desk aflame, and Yāyún had felt a moment of soaring satisfaction, the heat settling in his chest like a purring kitten.

Finally, though, he received his wand. The old man—Ollivander, apparently—handed it to him, with the words “Ash, thirteen and a half inches. Unicorn hair, rather supple. An affinity for charm work, I would expect. Well?”

Yāyún lifted the wand, but froze as he felt… _something_ ripple down his spine. It was warm, and reaching—slipping its way through his mind, threading its spidery tendrils through the heat, which curled around the tendrils, both wary and… _welcoming._ It was odd, but he couldn’t help how his shoulders relaxed, and the irritation that had been curled in his chest seemed to fall away, as though cleansed by the warmth.

He shuddered, and Ollivander released a sigh of satisfaction as he began to tally the price.

“Ah, another wand matched…” he mused. “Keep in mind, however, that an ash wand will never accept another master—they are notoriously loyal.” At this, he sent Yāyún a significant look, though what the man was trying to convey, Yāyún didn’t know.

As they left the store, his Da having paid for the wand—eight Galleons—and some cleaning supplies along with a wrist holster for while he was in Hogwarts, Yāyún stared down at his wand. The pale wood seemed to glimmer in the sunlight, slim and elegant. The handle was a simple affair, a mere tracing of spiral engravings up to the top of the handle. It seemed innocuous, a simple stick, with no power whatsoever.

But Yāyún knew better now.

That warmth, the tendrils, wrapping into the heat and being _welcomed_ , was still fresh on his mind. It scared him, almost, to have something that was so clearly at least semi-sentient connected to him on such an intimate level. And yet…it didn’t. It made him feel warm, _safe_. Almost like a safe haven, a place to return to when the world was too much, but at the same time he wanted to throw it away, burn it until the ashes drifted disconsolately in the wind.

As they approached their last stop, he brought himself from his thoughts, tucking his wand away into his robes. The Twins, spotting their mother and siblings at Florean Fortiscue’s, had bowed out, waving as they left—but not before ruffling his hair, which he had nearly bitten them for. Patience, patience. He could do that _later_.

They entered Flourish and Blott’s, the smell of old parchment assaulting their noses. Yāyún breathed in, and his Mum ushered him off.

“Go on, we can get your schoolbooks. I expect we’ll be here a while.” She said, winking at him. He smiled back, and began his foray into the wide and varied world of the books that rested here, waiting for some soul to find them and take them home, reading them long and well until their covers were faded and soft.

And so, he lost himself in the books. He wandered through the shelves, browsing and reading, soon finding the fiction section and grimacing at the line of books that were dedicated to his brother’s ‘adventures’ as the Boy-Who-Lived.

So far as _he_ knew, the extent of Clarence’s incredible adventures was stealing some of their mother’s fresh-baked cookies from the jar and, on occasion, playing some Quidditch at the Weasley’s on-the-sly, hiding it from their mother. _Not_ wandering around strange and foreign lands, fighting dragons and rescuing princesses, or saving countries and the like.

It made him want to hunt down the writers and beat them over the head with the very same books they wrote, impressing upon them just how much of what they had dreamed up was lies.

“Ah, hallo?” a thickly accented voice interrupted his scowling at the fiction series. He glanced up. “Do you know vhere de Hogvarts schoolbooks are?”

“Downstairs,” he replied, meeting the eyes of the girl who stood in front of him. She had long blonde hair, and vivid green eyes, and she stood there, looking nervous. “Three rows to the left of the doors.”

“Ah, dank you,” she murmured, nodding her head. “I’m Aleksandra Volkov,” she introduced quietly.

“Hadrian Potter,” Yāyún replied, remembering his parent’s request that he only allow his friends to call him ‘Yāyún’. It didn’t make much sense to him, but he would do as they asked.

“Are you goingk to Hogvarts?” she asked, looking at him with those vivid eyes. She reminded him of citrines and sunlight, soft and warm. He nodded, and she ducked her head. “Then…I vill see you on de train, da?”

“Yes.” He replied quietly. She nodded, and quietly moved away, her steps soft and light.

“Dank you, Hadrian,” she said once more, before ducking out of sight.

Yāyún shook his head, returning his attention to the books. What a strange person, he mused. She had sounded Russian, or at the very least Slavic, and he wondered where she was from with a detached sort of curiosity.

He shrugged, and went back to browsing.

He’d see her on the train anyway.

///

(The wind is a solitary being—it does not often interact with others. But it is not alone as one might think; far above it, warm and fiery, the sun shines upon the world the wind travels.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter!   
> Also, please don't get on me about OCs. It's in the tags, and HP is a gigantic –verse, and the cannon leaves so much open to interpretation that in order to fill in Yāyún’s first year, I’m going to have to create OCs. However, I’m going to try and make them realistic, and give them proper character development, like I try to do with all the characters I write.   
> …which is going to be hard. I’m going to be juggling to gigantic casts, and trying to give them all accurate character development depending upon what happens. Lord save me now.   
> ;-;


	12. Chapter 10: The Beginning of a Storm

The days leading up to Yāyún’s departure to Hogwarts were both happy and sad. His parents were happy for him, but also inexplicably sad; when he had asked his Mum, she had said something about him growing up too fast.

Arianna and Callista had been clingy, constantly demanding his attention and energy even as he tried to read through his books and prepare for the school year like his Mum had told him to.

Clarence had been…nonchalant. At least, that’s how he came across to Yāyún, but he suspected that his younger brother was putting up a front. After all, his younger brother wasn’t _that_ different from the little child who had looked up at him with watery hazel eyes, begging to spend time with his favorite (and only) older brother.

Finally, September 1st came. As Yāyún walked downstairs, dressed in a pair of muggle jeans and a t-shirt, Arianna and Callista dogged his steps insistently.

“Can we come?” Callista asked for the nth time that morning.

“No,” he replied quietly, just as he had every other time.

“Why not?” she whined, and Yāyún paused in his descent, holding Alice in his arms.

“No, Callista.” His voice was firm, and his little sister seemed to realize that she’d finally begun to pull at his last nerve with her behavior.

“Sorry,” she muttered, looking away sulkily. She glanced up through her lashes at him, and he gazed at her for a moment before nodding. She heaved a heavy sigh, still feeling sulky about being chided by her brother.

When Yāyún finally reached the living room, he found his Mum and Da waiting there alongside Clarence. They had his trunk and a cat-carrier at their feet, and his Mum held a brown paper bag in her hands, which she handed to him as soon as he’d coaxed Alice into the carrier.

“For lunch,” she explained. “The House Elves made it for you.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking it carefully.

“Now,” his Da started expansively, grinning down at them. “We’re going to be Floo-ing to the Leaky Cauldron first, and we’ll walk to Kings Cross Station from there. Clarence, you’ll Floo with me, and the twins will be with Lily. Hadrian, you’re fine Floo-ing on your own, right?” Yāyún nodded. “Right then. Potters! Move out!”

Yāyún held himself back from rolling his eyes. His Da seemed to fancy himself like one of those muggle military commanders that they had seen in some muggle movies once or twice sometimes, and it honestly sounded kind of dumb to Yāyún. But it was something that was fairly common around the house anyway, so he had learned to deal with it. Even if it made him want to roll his eyes and mutter something unkind under his breath—which he had quickly learned not to do within earshot of any of his family.

His Mum and Da would either reprimand him or cuff him gently upside the head, and Arianna and Callista were still at the age where they would repeat most anything they heard to their parents if they thought it was funny. And Clarence…well, he liked to play along with their Da.

“Left, left-right-left!” laughed Clarence as he marched with their Da to the fireplace, throwing in the handful of Floo powder. Yāyún followed after, dragging his trunk and holding Alice’s carrier, letting himself be swept into the flurry of spinning green fire. He grimaced as he stumbled out of the fireplace, thankful that he didn’t feel to sooty or stink too much of smoke. He stepped away from the grate quickly, letting his Mum come through with the twins in a rush of emerald flame. They stumbled forwards, the twins giggling cheerily.

The family was greeted warmly by Tom, the barkeep at the Leaky Cauldron, who smiled at Yāyún.

“Good luck at Hogwarts, lad,” he said, winking at him.

“Thank you,” Yāyún murmured, dipping his head politely.

After that, they were swept out into Muggle London by his Da, ushered along through crowds of Muggles. Yāyún winced at the loud hustle and bustle of the streets, and struggled to remain mentally present until they reached the Hogwarts Express. He didn’t trust this place, and he wouldn’t allow himself to withdraw and abandon his family here, regardless if he had come to Muggle London almost every evening for the past couple of years.

Finally, they entered Kings Cross Station, and their Da lead them to the pillar between Platforms 9 and 10.

“Now,” his Da said quietly into Yāyún’s ear, just barely intelligible over the background noise of the trains and muggles. “Take your trunk—and Alice—and go through the pillar. It’s spelled with an enchantment that allows you to cross over into Platform 9 and ¾. I’d do it at a bit of a run,” he said, winking.

Yāyún took a deep breath, shifting his grip on the trolley they had placed his trunk and Alice’s carrier on. He stared at the barrier, and, as a group of muggle tourists finished crowding past the pillar, he stepped forward briskly. Just as he felt like he was about to hit the pillar, he went _through_ it. He shuddered at the wet, chill sensation that seeped down his spine from the magic of the barrier’s enchantments and moved into the Plaform proper.

His family followed behind him, and almost like bloodhounds, a group of reporters seemed to zero in on his brother. It made his blood _itch_ , even as the reporters tried to crowd around the ‘celebrity’, hoping for an interview.

_How_ they had known his brother would be here was anyone’s guess, but they were irritating him.

As their Da fended off the reporters, his Mum hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry we can’t stay too much longer,” she whispered. “But your Da can only do so much, I’m afraid.” They both laughed a little bit. “I love you, my Little Cloud. I love you so much. Be safe, and try not to get into too much trouble, okay?”

“Okay, Mum,” he agreed quietly, feeling panicky as her eyes grew watery. She released him reluctantly, and her place was instantly taken by the twins.

“Don’t go!” Callista begged.

“I have to,” he said gently, patting their heads.

“But who’s going to read me Beedle the Bard? Who’s going to get me water in the middle of the night when I ask? Who’s going to take me out into the woods?” she asked, her eyes swimming with tears.

“I’m sure you can talk Clarence into it, or Mum and Da,” he assured her.

“But they’re not _you!_ ” she wailed, and Arianna stared up at him with wide, soulful eyes, and Yāyún forced himself to look away.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, letting himself relax and forget about the reporters and others crowding around the family. “I’ll write every week, and before you know it it’ll be Yule, and I’ll be back home.”

“Promise?” Callista sniffed.

“Promise.”

Arianna clung to his hand as he made to stand up, and he turned to her.

“Be safe, Yā,” she whispered, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks as she hugged him tightly.

“I promise, Ari.”

“Good,” she said fiercely, clinging tightly to him before letting go. As Yāyún stood, Clarence moved forward and looked at him for a moment, eyes unreadable. He swallowed dryly, and then he pulled Yāyún into a fierce hug.

“Bye, Yā,” he said gruffly, looking away as he released his brother. Yāyún smiled and nodded. Abruptly, he was swept up in his Da’s arms, and held tightly.

“Have fun at Hogwarts,” he said brightly. “Make sure to prank Snivellus for me, okay?”

“James!” their Mum said sharply, turning away from where she had taken over fending off the reporters.

“Sorry, sorry,” their Da laughed. “Enjoy yourself, Hadrian!” he said, finally letting Yāyún put his feet back on the ground. Yāyún flattened his now-rumpled clothes, and winced as a whistle blew sharply. They had arrived early, but it was already almost ten forty-five, according to the clock that hung above the barrier.

Yāyún dragged his trunk onto the train, and wandered down to a compartment a ways down to the back of the train. He grimaced as he stared up at the racks for the luggage, and wondered how he was supposed to get his heavy trunk up there.

As it turned out, his answer ended up opening the compartment door not even ten seconds later.

“Uh, hello,” Yāyún blinked at the familiar voice, turning around. The blonde girl he had met in Flourish and Blott’s stood in the doorway, biting her lip nervously. An older boy stood beside her, glowering at Yāyún. He nodded to her, and she shifted.

“Uh, may I sit in here?” she asked timidly. He blinked at her, and nodded calmly.

“Do you think you could help me get my trunk up?” he asked, remembering the manners his Mum had hammered into him. She brightened, before rattling something off to the scowling older boy beside her in Russian. He sent her a scowl before grabbing their trunks and lifting them onto the racks.

She chirped something that sounded like “spaseebah” before hugging him and shooing him off as the train let off a high, piercing whistle once more. He raised an eyebrow at her as she sat down.

“That was my cousin,” she explained, her accent mangling the words a bit. “He’s attending Durmstrang, but Mama and Papa moved to Britain, so I’m going to Hogwarts.” She laughed a bit. “He doesn’t like that I’m not going to Durmstrang as well.”

Yāyún nodded before pulling Alice’s cat-carrier into his lap. He glanced at her, before gesturing to the carrier.

“Go ahead,” she murmured. He unzipped the front, and Alice slid out gracefully, her flicking tail almost hitting Yāyún’s nose. Somehow, he felt that she had meant to do so, and that it was no accident; Alice was frightfully intelligent sometimes.

“Aww,” Aleksandra cooed. “She’s adorable!” abruptly she froze, glancing at him and turning red. “A-ah, I mean, uh…”

Yāyún merely nodded, and rubbed at the kneazel’s ears. Aleksandra smiled weakly at him, reaching up and withdrawing one of her coursebooks from her trunk and settling down to read while Yāyún did the same with one of his muggle fiction books.

“What are you reading?” she asked quietly.

“The King of the Murgos, by David Eddings,” he replied.

“Oh.”

And with that, they fell into silence.

///

(Very few things are ever truly alone. Not the wind, not the sky; not the cloud nor the sun. They all touch each other in some way, invigorating each other’s lives. No matter what one might like to think.)


	13. Chapter 11: Swirling Forwards

“Well, well—”

“—what do we have here?”

It was the Twins. They stood in the doorway to the compartment, matching smirks twisting their faces. The train continued rattling, making its way deep into Scotland.

Aleksandra looked up from her book, eyes widening.

“Who are you?” she asked quietly, carefully earmarking her page and shutting the book. The Twins exchanged a look.

“Ooh, has Harry-kins—”

“—got himself a girlfriend?”

“And a foreign one at that, right George?”

“Definitely, Fred.”

Yāyún glowered at them, eyes narrowing. The Twins grinned at him, before one of them—likely Fred, he thought—winked at him. He settled back a bit, letting a rather sharp sound from his throat. Aleksandra glanced at him sharply, looking faintly surprised. Her cheeks had flushed pink, and she frowned at the Twins.

“We’re n-not involved,” she chided them, and pulled back as they both leaned forward, and Yāyún knew that they had caught her shyness, like sharks scenting blood—or foxes on the prowl.

“Speaks funny, doesn’t she?” remarked one, his grin twisting into something almost cruel as they began to play their game.

“That’s right, Fred!” agreed the other, a matching grin on his face. “What’s with her W’s, anyway? Makes ‘em sound like a V, she does.”

Yāyún growled, and hit the twin closest to him with his book. He jumped, and turned to Yāyún, an injured expression on his face.

“Aw, Harry-kins, we’re not going to _hurt_ her,” he pouted.

“That’s right! We were just having a bit of fun,” agreed the other quickly. Yāyún rolled his eyes, and scowled at them.

“You’re being noisy,” he snapped, flicking his hand towards the door. The Twins grinned at each other, and promptly sat down beside Aleksandra, crossing their legs primly.

“Why, us—”

“—Harry-kins? _Never_.”

“Never ever noisy—”

“—or annoying, isn’t that right, Miss?”

Aleksandra blinked, flushing redder as the Twins smirked at her. Yāyún gave them all a scowl, arranging himself so that he could lay comfortably on the seat and read. He disliked the Twins’ games most times, but sometimes it was simply easier to ignore them.

And besides, he just _knew_ that if he started chasing them now, his Mum would find out, and he’d be in for a scolding via very-disappointed-letter from her. Nevermind that they had done that very same thing at the Potter Mansion and never broken anything.

As the Twins lapsed into periodic silence, breaking it only to poke and prod at Aleksandra occasionally, Yāyún frowned into his book. There was an aching feeling in his chest; it was almost a tug, seeming to pull him back towards London, to his family. It chafed at him, pulling and snarling at being separated, and he shifted uncomfortably. But yet, at the same time, there was a feeling of freedom that he hadn’t been able to feel at the Potter Mansion—it wriggled and snaked inside him, making him want to stick his head out the window and luxuriate in the sensation of _freedom_ , of not being tied to the sides of his parents or siblings.

He dealt with it like he had dealt with the other annoying dichotomies that had plagued him throughout the years—he pushed them away, shoving them into a box, locking it, and throwing away the key before tossing the whole thing into a bottomless pit inside his head. It wouldn’t bother him there; it would lay there and rot away, forgotten and left in the cloying darkness.

Sighing, he placed the book on top of his face, breathing in the old, musty smell of old-books. It was one of the most familiar smells to him, and he quickly relaxed as his eyes slipped shut.

Perhaps a nap would do him some good.

///

When he next woke, it was to the Twins shaking him awake.

“Come on—”

“—Harry-kins!” they cajoled.

“The train’s—”

“—stopping soon, and—”

“—you need to change into your robes!”

They were dressed in black robes edged with red and gold with red and gold ties, Yāyún noticed as he sat up, sleep leaving his eyelids heavy. The Twins backed up as he leveled them with a glower before throwing his robes into his face.

“Here you go!” they chorused, grinning as they slid out of the compartment.

“We’re off to find—”

“—our friend, Lee Jordan—”

“—before the train stops.” They explained, trading back and forth once more. “See you later!”

Aleksandra giggled.

“They are very funny,” she remarked softly, smiling at him timidly. Yāyún turned his tired glare onto her, and she looked away, the smile falling away from her face. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Yāyún made a noise in the back of his throat, and stood up, holding his robes. He nodded to her, leaving the compartment intent on finding a loo to change in. As he wandered down the train, he passed compartments filled with students—they talked and laughed, and he couldn’t help but wince at the noise as some filtered through the halls with their friends. Soon, though, he found a loo, swiftly changing into his robes with the ease of long practice before beginning his return journey to his compartment.

On his way, however, he encountered a… _complication_.

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” demanded a burly boy, with robes edged in blue-and-bronze. He towered over Yāyún, and his friends snickered at his apparent misfortune. Yāyún had accidentally bumped into him, having been attempting to avoid a group of giggling girls who had been moving down the hallway. “Well?!”

Yāyún craned his neck upwards, letting his emerald green eyes narrow. This boy…reminded him of the _leech_. Not in the sense that they shared certain parasitic traits—though Yāyún wondered if that were the case as well—but in and of the fact that both had a certain…look to their faces that indicated dislike and violence to come. Yāyún had seen that face on the _leech_ at his eighth birthday party, and now he saw it on the boy in front of him.

“Oi! Answer me, you little twerp!” snarled the boy, reaching forward, intent on grasping Yāyún’s collar and hauling him up by it. Unfortunately for the boy, Yāyún had spent the last few years taking martial arts lessons. He reacted, grabbing the boy’s wrist and twisting it harshly, drawing a cry of pain from the boy. He then stepped forward, tripping the boy as he did so. He brought his arm down across the boy’s back, sending him down even more harshly. The air whooshed out of the boy’s lungs, and he lay there for a moment, gasping.

His friends cried out in dismay, moving forward. Yāyún settled into a ready stance, almost daring them to move closer. His blood was roaring in his ears, sending his heartbeat skittering and the heat coiling loosely in his belly. They moved back uncertainly, even as the boy rose once more.

Yāyún reflected, for a moment, that the boy was more of an… _ape_ , than a human. His face was plain, and his eyes were lit with intelligence, but he wasn’t truly smart. He had no survival instinct pounding in his head, tugging him after prey or to run from a predator.

He didn’t realize that here, _Y_ _ā_ _y_ _ú_ _n_ was the predator, and _he_ was the prey.

The ape turned, raising his fists.

“What do you think you’re doing, Akers?” demanded a voice. The ape stopped, turning away with a scoff.

“None of your business, Diggory,” he snapped back. “Just teaching this brat a lesson.”

“I think not,” hissed the other boy, standing a little distance away. His robes, Yāyún noticed, were edged with yellow-and-black. “Move along, Akers, or Ravenclaw will be in the negatives before the school year even starts!” the ape seemed to take the threat seriously, and the group retreated even as the ape threw one last barb over his shoulder.

“Just ‘cause your cousin’s a prefect don’t mean you can rule my life, Diggory!” he spat. The other boy rolled his eyes, turning to Yāyún.

“Are you alright? Akers and his crew are a nasty piece of work,” he said, glancing Yāyún over. Yāyún nodded.

“Fine,” he said, moving away as Diggory took a step too close for Yāyún’s comfort. Thankfully, the older boy seemed to recognize Yāyún’s unease, because he let him increase the distance and smiled.

“Good, I’m glad!” he said. “Do you want me to get you back to your compartment?” Yāyún shook his head. “Right then. See you later—we’ll be stopping soon.”

And with that, he turned away and left Yāyún standing there. Yāyún shook his head, turning on his heel and returning to his compartment.

“O-oh!” yelped Aleksandra as he opened the door. He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you were coming back…” she mumbled embarrassedly. “I thought I had offended you…”

Yāyún rolled his eyes, and was about to sit down as the train ground to a halt. A voice rolled over the train.

“Please leave all luggage and pets in the train; the staff will deliver them to the appropriate dormitories.”

With a sigh, he placed his book back into his trunk, and coaxed Alice back into her carrier, murmuring gently to her.

“I’ll be back,” he reassured her. “Be nice.”

She merely growled, eyes glittering coolly.

The air outside the train was thick with a damp chill, and Yāyún was, for once, grateful for the thick fabric of his robes. Aleksandra stood beside him, eyes wide and seemingly unaffected by the cold.

“Firs’ years!” boomed a loud voice. “Firs’ years, this way!” it was a giant of a man, holding a lantern. He was ushering them off the platform towards the lake edge. “No more ‘an four to a boat!”

Yāyún hung back away from the crowd, not willing to let himself be swept into the bustling crush of eleven year olds. They found a boat, and Yāyún settled himself into it as Aleksandra fidgeted nervously, glancing down at the black water.

There were two others in their boat; one stuck his hand out, grinning at them.

“Hi!” he chirped. “I’m Luca Capello!” Aleksandra waved shyly, and Yāyún merely glanced up at the energetic boy. “It’s nice to meet you! Aren’t you excited to be here? I mean, it’s Hogwarts! I’ve been waiting so long to be here—my Mum told me all about it, of course, but it doesn’t match up well with the real thing, without seeing it, you know?” he chattered as the boats began to move forward. “She says it’s absolutely marvelous once you see the castle,” here, they all ducked to avoid the long-hanging branches, “say, isn’t that the castle there? Wow, it’s so amazing, Mum was right—”

Yāyún tuned out the boy’s voice, staring at the towering castle. It loomed over them, sparkling with light. For a moment, he wondered if this was what those characters in his books had felt in those wondrous moments; had Belgarion felt this way, holding the Sword of the Riven King for the first time? Had Gorath felt this when he first saw Salamandastron?

He didn’t know. But he did know that there was a light feeling bubbling up in his chest, full of wonder and childish excitement because _this was it_. This was his first step towards becoming an adult, towards being free of being chained to his parents.

He was _almost there_.

Abruptly, there was a splash. The talkative boy—Luca, he thought—had been gesticulating wildly, and moving around, causing the boat to rock. In doing so, he had—accidentally—pushed the other child in the boat overboard, accidentally hitting him with his arm. The child surfaced, spluttering and gasping for air.

“You _i-idiot_!” he yelled, reaching up for the edge of the boat. “Help me back in b-before I f-freeze to d-death!” his teeth chattered.

Luca leaned over with Aleksandra, and they both froze as the boat tilted dangerously, threatening to dump them _all_ in the freezing cold water.

“Aaah!!” shrieked the boy in the water, flinching away from _something_. “There’s something i-in here! Get me out!” before any of them could do anything, however, the boy was lifted up by a… _tentacle_ and placed neatly back in the boat, shivering and dripping wet.

The tentacle was positively massive, and Yāyún stared at it, eyes wide. The other boy punched Luca in the arm, teeth chattering harshly.

“Y-you i-idiot! D-don’t d-d-do that a-again!”

“Sorry!” Luca apologized, fussing over the wet boy. “I’m sorry! I’m Luca, and you are?”

“And why would I tell y-you th-that?” demanded the wet boy.

“C’mon, please? I didn’t mean to!”

“Fine! Tom Higgenbottom!” snapped the wet boy.

When they hit land, the wet boy scrambled out of the boat, followed by Luca and Aleksandra. The giant man walked over, holding his huge lantern.

“E’rything alright o’er ‘ere?” he asked, looking them over critically.

“Fine, sir,” Aleksandra murmured. “Higglebottom just fell in.”

“Righ’ then, let’s ge’ you all insi’e then.”

The giant man walked up to the massive doors that stood in front of them and knocked, banging the wood. It boomed, the doors shaking on their hinges, and they swung open without a sound. There stood a stern looking woman, wearing emerald robes and a pointed witch’s hat.

“’ere they are, Pr’fess’r McGonagall,” announced the giant man.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she said, her voice rolling with a Scottish burr. “Come along then,” she called to them, ushering them all inside the massive hall. She brought them to a stop in front of another set of massive doors.

“Now, here at Hogwarts,” she began, “there are four Houses, each with a great and noble history. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are here at Hogwarts, your House will be like your family; obey the rules and do well in classes and you will earn points. Break the rules, and you will lose points.” She turned to them, lips thin as she surveyed them. “At the end of the year, all of the points a House has earned will place them for the House Cup—earn enough points, and your House may very well win. Now, the Sorting will begin shortly. Take the time to tidy yourselves up.”

And with that, she slipped through the doors, shutting them behind her. The students began muttering among themselves not long after, debating about the Sorting ceremony.

“ _I_ heard that it’s very painful,” drawled one student, haughtily looking at the one who had asked her.

“Really? I don’t think that they would put students in danger like that…right?” disagreed another, this time a girl with short black hair. “Right? It doesn’t make sense!”

“But…my older brother told me that it’s not very hard at all!” announced another, a boy with sandy blond hair.

“Really?” asked the black haired girl. “What is it, then?” the boy looked put out.

“He wouldn’t tell me,” he admitted.

Yāyún rolled his eyes. His Mum had told him that it was a tradition not to tell the First Years what the Sorting ceremony _really_ was. She had refused to tell him anything more than the fact that it was a simple test—nothing harmful, nothing to worry about. Then she had kissed his forehead and said not to worry about it, and that they would love him no matter what house he got; even if he was a Slytherin. And if his Da disagreed, well, she would bop him one on the head.

A chorus of shrieks drew his attention. There, floating obliviously above the heads of the students, were a group of ghosts.

“We should give him a second chance!” insisted one, clearly attempting to reason with the other two.

“We’ve already given him a second chance,” said the other. “And a third, and a fourth, and so on! He’s quite exhausted them.”

Ghosts. More specifically, the House Ghosts. From what his Mum had told him, Yāyún wondered if they deliberately wandered into the Main Hall when the First Years were waiting, just to scare them. Just then, the fat ghost seemed to notice the group of children.

“Oh, the First Years!” he said jollily. “Waiting to be Sorted, I suppose? Well, I hope to see you in Hufflepuff—my old House, you know.” With that, he glided off through the walls.

“Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington,” introduced the other ghost as he, too, glided away. “Hope to see you in Gryffindor.”

“The Hall will see you now.” The sharp, stern voice of Professor McGonagall announced into the suddenly still air. “Arrange yourselves into two columns,” she commanded, letting the students shuffle themselves into order before pushing the doors open and leading them into the hall.

Yāyún ended up standing between Luca and the black haired girl, with Aleksandra standing beside him. They walked into the hall, and Yāyún craned his head upwards, staring at the starry skied ceiling. The candles floated, and the stars glittered above, and Yāyún could almost let himself ignore the whispers that resounded around him. Then Aleksandra nudged him, pointing at Professor McGonagall, who had set a stool in front of the Head Table with a ratty old hat on it. It was ratty and old and patched, covered in dirt and old seams.

Then, the seams moved, arranging themselves into a semblance of a face.

And the Hat began to sing.

“ _Once upon a time, very long ago,_

_I sat upon the head, of a hero of old._

_Old Godric Gryffindor, with his spells,_

_Whipped me off his head, and charmed me to tell_

_The students where they would dwell._

_To Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart;_

_To Ravenclaw, for those clever and smart;_

_To Hufflepuff, where reside the loyal and true;_

_Or to Slytherin, where the sly take their due._

_For many long years have I Sorted thus,_

_Separating students, as I must._

_But the rifts between have grown deep,_

_And I now know that I must speak._

_Stand together, not alone,_

_Or Hogwarts herself shall fall, stone by stone._

_Now I have spoken, a warning to all;_

_Heed it well, listen to the call._

_And now I must once more,_

_Sort you all into these Houses four._

_This year again I shall host this event…_

_Let the Sorting now commence.”_

There was silence for a moment, the entire hall bewildered by the Sorting Hat’s song. Then Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

“When I call your name, step up and put on the Sorting Hat,” she announced, lifting the sheet of parchment in her grasp. “Acheson, Calanthe!”

And so it began. Yāyún watched as a tiny, pixie like girl stumbled up to the Hat, sitting for a moment before it called out, “Ravenclaw!”, table on the right bursting into applause.

One by one, they were called up. Both “Ackerman, Casey!” and “Alden, Daisy!” were Ravenclaws, but “Becke, Murry!” was the first Hufflepuff.

“Booth, Seeley!” was the first Gryffindor, rapidly followed by “Brahms, Edgar!”, while “Campbell, Neah!” was the first Slytherin.

Soon though, it was Luca’s turn. He grinned at Yāyún, running up to McGonagall with a grin on his face as she called him.

“Capello, Luca!”

He sat, the Hat sinking over his curly, russet hair. It waited for a moment, before calling out, “Gryffindor!”

The Gryffindor table broke out into cheers and clapping, and Luca set the hat down and darted over, grinning wildly. Yāyún wondered if the boy had wanted to be in Gryffindor. Soon, though, the wet boy was called up.

“Higglebottom, Tom!”

He walked up, shivering but with his chin lifted defiantly, sitting with a slightly wet squelch on the stool. Professor McGonagall flicked her wand, and the wetness vanished, replaced by steam. Higglebottom jumped, looking surprised as the Hat sunk over his prominent ears.

“Slytherin!” it announced after a moment, and Higglebottom nodded, removing the Hat and walking with dignity to his new House table, where he was greeted by clapping and cheers, but sharp, analyzing stares too.

And soon, it was Yāyún’s turn as well.

“Potter, Hadrian!” she called, and he strode forward, feeling the light feeling in his belly swelling up, making his heart pound faster. The whispers resounded in his ears.

_“Potter, did she say?”_ they whispered. “ _As in Clarence Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived? I didn’t know he had an older brother…”_

“ _Maybe he’s not an older brother, but someone who took the name?”_

“ _A fake?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“I bet he’s trying to steal his brother’s fame!”_

The whispers were harsh, but Yāyún restrained his urge to lash out. Slowly, the Hat settled over his hair, sitting neatly over his ears.

“ _Hmm_ ,” it murmured in his mind. Yāyún’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers twitched. “ _Now, now, none of that,_ ” the Hat scolded. “ _I’m merely here to Sort you, not harm you. Now…where shall you go?”_ it mused to itself. “ _There’s bravery here, courage…but also cunning—not a bad mind either, though you only use it in defense of what you consider yours, don’t you? Hm…now…where to put you? Difficult. Quite_ difficult _.”_ The Hat paused.

Yāyún felt his heart speed up, racing swiftly in his chest. The heat burned in his belly, reaching up, up, _up_ to the Hat, wanting to remove the threat, to eliminate the possible harm.

“ _Oh? What’s this? Such loyalty to those whom you consider yours, eh? That sort of loyalty and strength belongs in…”_

The Hat drew out the moment, letting Yāyún stew in his anticipation.

“ _Hufflepuff_!”

///

(The wind has few chains, few loyalties. But the few loyalties it does have, it attends to truly and fiercely. Naught can stop the wind when it is rampaging, and its temper is to be feared. But to those fair few that it is loyal to, it will always protect.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…here’s this chapter. The Sorting, yay!  
> As for my reasoning for Hufflepuff…well, the core of Yāyún’s personality is driven by his desire to claim and protect those he considers his, and in return, he belongs to them. He gives himself as fully as he can to them, and that’s a sort of loyalty and trust that is difficult to come by. He may not give it to everyone, but with those he cares for he is hardworking, loyal, strong, and fierce. He just utilizes these traits to command the others, leaving his loyalty as part of the root of his personality. It’s part of having both Cloud Flames and Storm Flames—from where I stand, both Cloud and Storm (with Lightning as well) are the most protective of the lot; they give a whole lot more fiercely. Though, that isn’t to say that the other elements can’t do the same; they just seem more given to it from my perspective.   
> So…Hufflepuff. Yeah.


	14. Chapter 12: The Wind, the Sun, and the Mist

The silence in the Hall was palpable. After a moment, Yāyún tugged the Hat from his head, holding it out to Professor McGonagall as he stood. With a short nod, he began to walk over to the table on the right, his tie now yellow-and-black and his robes edged similarly. As though this had broken them from their reverie, the Hufflepuff table broke out into raucous cheers, and Yāyún winced as the sounds echoed back into his ears painfully. As he slid into a free space on a bench, an older boy reached over, extending his hand.

“It’ll be great to have you here, mate!” he exclaimed. “Say, aren’t you the kid that Akers and his crew were bothering? I’m Cedric Diggory, by the way.” Yāyún stared at the boy for a moment, listening as the other tables slowly broke out into more whispering as the Hufflepuff table’s cheers began to die away.

“Hadrian,” he said simply, nodding. The other looked rather put-out by his quiet response, but he smiled and sat down after a moment. Just as Diggory opened his mouth, Professor McGonagall lifted the parchment again and called out another name.

“Rockbell, Winry!” a blonde girl walked up to the hat and was promptly sorted into Gryffindor. Diggory sent a grin at Yāyún, turning his attention once more to the Sorting ceremony. The names were went through, slowly and methodically, until Aleksandra’s name was called.

“Volkov, Aleksandra!” McGonagall called sharply, and the blonde girl walked up. She sat, and the Hat sank over her ears, obscuring her eyes. She fidgeted, biting her lip and griping the edge of the stool with whitening knuckles. A few minutes passed, but there was still no verdict.

“She’s a Hatstall,” breathed Diggory. Yāyún sent him a questioning look. “It’s where the Hat can’t quite decide which House to put a student into; it’s not exactly _rare_ , but it’s certainly not the norm. _You_ were a Hatstall too, you know.” Diggory explained in a whisper, even as similar whispers and mutterings began to sound out around the Hall. “Certainly didn’t think you’d end up in _Hufflepuff_ ; everyone thought you’d be a Gryff like your Mum and Dad. Wonder where she’ll end up?” he wondered, looking contemplatively at Aleksandra. Time stretched out, and even the staff were leaning forward, awaiting the Hat’s verdict with almost _eager_ looks. Finally, the Hat’s ‘mouth’-seam opened.

“Gryffindor!” it cried, and the Hat was promptly removed from Aleksandra’s head. She stood and let out a breath of relief, her face pale. She walked over to her new House’s table, a smile spreading across her face. Oddly enough, though, there were only a few who clapped for her. The rest seemed to be staring at her with wide eyes and edged away from her as she sat. However, Luca promptly sat across from her, and started chattering at her.

Soon enough the last name was called out—“Walker, Allen!”, who became a Slytherin—and Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment, grasped the Hat, and moved the stool away into the back of the room before taking her seat.

“Now, before we all tuck in, I would like to say a few words,” the Headmaster’s voice rang out clearly, despite the chatter in the Hall. “Welcome, all new students, and a fond welcome back to our older students! Our Caretaker, Mister Argus Filch, would like to remind you that all prank items are forbidden in the corridors alongside any and all spellwork. For a full list of banned items, there is a list pinned to his office door; I do believe that it has exceeded five hundred items this year.” Dumbledore peered over his glasses at them all, a smile tugging at his lips. “Now, dig in!”

Food appeared on the plates in front of Yāyún, and he stopped, staring at them for a moment. He had never encountered this—at home, the food was always served to them in person, never appearing out of nowhere. Then he frowned. All of the food he saw was rich; rich and oily, and most definitely not things that he would be able to fully enjoy. Of course, the roast duck certainly looked good, but he knew that eating such oily and fatty foods would fill him up far more than his usual, lighter fare. Looking around the table, he noted the foods that he wanted and began to carefully portion out some for himself.

“Take as much as you want, mate!” Diggory said lightly, looking mildly amused at how little Yāyún was taking.

“I am,” he said simply, glancing at Diggory calmly. Diggory frowned for a moment, before shrugging.

“If you say so, mate,” he said, turning away. Throughout the rest of the meal, however, he kept a close eye on Yāyún, as though silently judging him. It made his blood itch with the urge to forcefully put the boy’s attention back on _his own_ food and business and not Yāyún’s.

He tucked in, eating his fill. Soon though, his prediction was proved true—the richness was far more than he was used to, and soon he was full; almost overly so. He was grateful he hadn’t taken more, though, as his Mum had been firmly against wasting food. Eventually, the dinner foods were taken away and replaced with the richly sweet foods that Wizarding Britain favored for dessert.

For this, Yāyún merely took a small portion of treacle tart, enjoying the sugary sweetness on his palate. Thankfully, as Yāyún had slowly been getting more and more bored, the food finally vanished, and the Headmaster stood once more.

“And now that we have all eaten our fill,” he began grandiosely, “a goodnight to all! Prefects, if you will lead your Houses to your Common Rooms?”

And with that, the whole room became a bustle of activity; people moved around, chattering, benches scraped against stone floors, people shoved and laughed and pushed—

—all in all, it was very, _very_ loud. Yāyún soon found himself being swept along in the hustle and bustle of the crowd, being jostled and pushed as the Hufflepuff House surged forward, the First Years following two Prefects.

They were lead through the Halls, separating away from the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws to join the Slytherins as they trekked down into the castle. Eventually, they parted with the Slytherins as well as the green-and-silver edged robes of the others continued deeper into the depths of the school while they turned away, leaving the darker and damper halls behind as they re-entered the warmer, better lit lower halls.

Soon, they were in a small room with a picture of a bowl of fruit at one end, and a bunch of barrels.

“This is the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room,” explained one of the Prefects, a tall black-haired girl. “Watch closely.”

She walked up to one of the barrels and rapped out a rhythm on it, smiling as she abruptly fell through the seemingly solid floor.

“All you have to do,” began the other Prefect, a rather round brunet boy, “is rap out the rhythm of ‘Hel-ga Huff-le-puff’ on the right barrel.” He demonstrated, and he, too, vanished through the seemingly solid floor. The group of First Years shuffled nervously, and Yāyún heaved a sigh. He was tired, and he just wanted to get to the undoubtedly soft bed that awaited him in the Common Room. But this group of nervous children was preventing him from reaching that bed. It frustrated him, and in a sudden fit of pique, he marched forward up to the barrel that the Prefects had knocked on and rapped out the rhythm. He was _sick of waiting!_

As he finished the rhythm, the floor seemed to abruptly give out from under him. It was oddly like falling and flying at the same time—there was an odd sense of control, but at the same time there was _no control at all_. It sent his heart pounding in his throat, and adrenaline flooding his system fiercely.

His feet met floor suddenly, and he stumbled several steps forward. Laughter rang out welcomingly, and strong hands helped him regain his balance. He pulled away, turning sharp green eyes onto the person who had helped him.

“Hey, easy there!” the older boy who had helped him said lightly, holding his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you, y’know.”

“So he’s the first one through? I half thought it would be that Gibbs kid!” remarked someone.

“Nah, wouldn’t have been him,” refuted someone else. “I thought it woulda been the Lee girl.”

“Well,” interrupted the girl-Prefect from earlier. “It wasn’t. It was Potter, so get over it and shut your gobs before the other kids start coming through!” she was sharp and firm, glaring the two into submission. Meanwhile, while they had all been arguing and talking, Yāyún had taken the opportunity to observe the Common Room. It was warm and bright, with large yellow and black armchairs arranged around the room with tables and around a large fireplace. Plush carpets covered the chill stone floor, and there were shelves of plants and little trophies on the walls alongside tapestries depicting pictures or names. All in all, it was a warm, welcoming room, and the students all seemed perfectly at home, lounging comfortably on the chairs or on the floor.

His attention, however, was drawn back to the entrance to the Common Room as a girl fell through the entrance, flailing slightly. Her hair was in pigtails, and she stumbled and fell over as she landed on the carpet. One of the older students promptly pulled her out of the way, greeting her cheerfully as another student fell through and was soon followed by another, and then another.

Yāyún soon realized why the other students had all been laughing when he had fallen through—as the others came through, one at a time, they flailed in an ungainly fashion, twisting and turning even as the magic around the entrance made sure they landed safely on their feet. It was an honestly amusing sight, and he found himself smiling.

Soon, all of the First Years were through, and the two Prefects from earlier stepped forward.

“Is that everyone?” asked the portly boy, counting heads.

“Yup, that is,” confirmed the girl.

“Right then.” The boy muttered. “Eyes on me!” he called out, and the First Years turned to him. “This is the Hufflepuff Common Room. The Boys’ Dorms are up and to the left,”

“And the Girls’ Dorms are up and to the right,” finished the girl. “The First Year rooms are at the end of the halls, and all of your things have already been brought up.”

“First through Third Years have a curfew of eight thirty to be back in the Common Room at night, and a curfew of nine thirty to be in bed with all lights out.” The boy-Prefect continued.

“Failure to meet your curfew will result in points deducted, and if the behavior continues, it will be brought to Professor Sprout, our Head of House.” The girl-Prefect explained. “Fourth through Seventh Years have a curfew of nine thirty to be back in the Common Room, and have to be in their dorms by eleven.”

“For the first two weeks, you’ll be escorted by at least one of the Fourth Years to meals and your classes, since Hogwarts is so easy to get lost in. Don’t forget to watch the staircases—they like to move.”

“Now, if the girls will follow me, I’ll take you to your dorms,” the girl-Prefect announced.

“And boys will follow me,” the boy-Prefect finished, walking to a staircase off to the left. The First Years separated, and soon Yāyún found himself walking up the broad staircase behind the boy-Prefect. They came out into a long corridor, with doors on either side at intervals.

“Seventh Years are closest to the stairs,” the boy-Prefect explained. “And the First Years are farthest away. And while we may not have solitary rooms, like the Slytherins, we aren’t as bad off as the Gryffindors—they have six kids in one room!” the boy-Prefect turned and grinned at them as they came upon the last set of four rooms. “Instead, everyone’s paired with someone else; take a look at the doors, and whoever your name’s paired with is your roommate for the rest of your time here at Hogwarts. Yes?”

One of the other boys spoke, having raised his hand. “Well, there are only six of us,” he began. “So why are there four rooms?”

“Well, sometimes we get more than six new boys in a year,” explained the boy-Prefect. “So we have an extra room. If we get more than eight, Hogwarts creates a new room, so that everyone has a room. I wouldn’t worry about it too much—from what I’ve heard, there hasn’t been a case like that since around two decades back.”

“Oh. Ok,” the boy said, looking away.

“Go ahead and find your rooms and settle in—I’d get some sleep if I were you, though. Even if tomorrow’s a Sunday, I bet you’re tired out from the train ride.”

With that, the boy-Prefect left, and the boys all looked at each other for a moment before separating to look at the doors. Soon enough, Yāyún found his name printed on one of the doors, just above the name ‘Ren Kendall’.

Another boy sidled up alongside him and sent him a smile.

“Shall we?” he asked, reaching for the doorknob.

“Yes,” Yāyún confirmed.

And together, they turned the doorknob, revealing the room inside.

///

(Just as the wind is accompanied by the sun, it also has other companions, though they are not nearly so constant. Clouds and rain and storms are carried by the wind, just as the mist that follows is swept along by the wind.)


	15. Chapter 13: The Starting Gun

“Come on, wake up!”

Yāyún let out a growl as sunlight dripped onto his face, compounded by the bright, mellow voice of his new roommate. He opened his eyes to slits, glaring at lavender eyes set in a smiling face that peered down at him.

“We have to get to breakfast!” chirped the boy, throwing back Yāyún’s covers. “Get dressed.” It was with a great deal of complaint that Yāyún found himself being ushered out of the Hufflepuff Common Room, accompanied by a cheery faced Ren Kendall.

They were greeted by Diggory, who grinned at them. “Come on, breakfast is starting soon,” he said easily, before glancing at Yāyún. “Say, are you alright, mate? You don’t look so good…”

“He just didn’t want to wake up yet,” Kendall explained, patting Yāyún’s shoulder. Yāyún lashed out with his hand, catching the other boy’s wrist and turned vicious green eyes upon the smiling raven. Diggory raised an eyebrow.

“Right then,” he said. “Well, let’s go! In order to get out, you just tap on this wall over here,” he explained, tapping said wall, “in the rhythm of ‘Hel-ga Huff-le-puff’. A little unoriginal, but it works for us.” And with that, the magic of the Hufflepuff Common Room’s entrance activated, pulling him upwards through the stone of the ceiling. The other four boys glanced at each other nervously, not sure who would go first but none wanting to be the first.

Kendall rolled his eyes and tugged Yāyún forward, tapping the wall with his knuckles. As the magic activated, Yāyún struggled to maintain his balance even as Kendall laughed and tugged Yāyún closer. They ended up flailing and sprawling out in a pile of limbs on the chill stone of the room above, Yāyún pulling away from his grinning roommate.

“That was fun!” the boy laughed, even as they scrambled out of the way as the other boys came through, more often than not ending up sprawled out like they had. “Don’t you think so?”

Yāyún shot him a glare, trying unsuccessfully to pull his hand out of the other boy’s grip. “No.”

“Aw, come on, don’t be that way.”

“No.”

They continued in a similar vein all the way to the Great Hall, where Diggory left them at the doors. Yāyún had finally managed to extricate his hand from Kendall’s grasp, and chose to sit away from the gaggle of people dotting their way down the table, already forming their little cliques. The four other boys sat together, by a group of Third and Fourth Years, and for a moment Yāyún hoped that Kendall would join them. Unfortunately, the far-too-chipper morning person had decided to continue bothering him, and had sat across from him, his lavender eyes gleaming in the sunlight that filtered into the Great Hall.

Thankfully, though, for Yāyún’s temper, the boy didn’t say anything, opting to fill his plate and stuff his mouth full. Yāyún let him, ignoring him and quietly eating his fill of the rich breakfast foods. As he piled some scrambled eggs with all manner of caramelized vegetables mixed in, he felt a wave of _something_ fall over him. It was almost _sad_ and _bittersweet_ , ringing of nostalgia. One of the House Elves at home had always made him this on Saturday mornings, serving it to him with a smile and a glass of chilled milk. It made something in him pang, and reach out for those memories, feeling the gaps where _his_ family wasn’t.

“Hey!”

The bright voice broke him from his thoughts, and Yāyún looked up, meeting the bright eyes of Luca, who had Aleksandra’s arm linked easily with his.

“Thought I’d come over and say hi,” the boy explained brightly, plopping himself down beside Kendall. Aleksandra sat down after a moment, opting to sit beside Yāyún. “I’m Luca Capello, by the way,” he introduced, holding his hand out to Kendall.

“Ren Kendall,” the other boy returned, shaking Luca’s hand easily. “So you know grumpy over there?”

“Yup! Or, well, kind of. We met on the boats! What about you, how do you know him?”

“We’re roommates.”

“Really? Wow, that’s cool! Wait, do you guys have full on dorms? ‘Cause let me tell you, rooming with five other boys is really lame. One of ‘em, Brahms, _snores_ so loud that I could barely get a wink of sleep last night. And that’s really not good, I’m glad we don’t have classes today.”

“Well, Hufflepuff has all the students separated into two-person dorms,” Kendall explained, swallowing a mouthful of food. “And me and Mr. Grumpy are roommates.”

“Huh, that explains a lot; like why he’s letting you sit across from him! Oh, I like your nickname for him…can I call him that?”

“No.” Yāyún broke in, scowling at the two chatterboxes.

“Aw, come on! It suits you so well!” Luca complained.

“No. And should you try and call me that again, Kendall…” he let himself trail off, knowing that they would fill in the blanks better than anything he could have said. Naturally, Kendall just had to break the tension.

“Seriously, just call me Ren; I don’t like being called by my last name,” he complained. “Besides, we’re roommates, and that whole formality malarkey shouldn’t really apply to us, right?” Yāyún merely stared at him impassively.

He would have to find a name for both of the annoying boys—both Luca and Kendall just _wouldn’t. Shut. Up._

Hm…they _were_ awfully loud; perhaps finches would fit the two? After all, they _chattered_ like finches.

“Oh!”

Yāyún glanced up at Luca’s exclamation. The red haired boy was looking at the doors to the Great Hall, watching a stream of Slytherins entering.

“Just a moment!” he exclaimed, dashing over to the group. The other finch laughed before turning to Aleksandra.

“I’m Ren Kendall,” he introduced. “And you?”

“Aleksandra Volkov,” she said, her accent thick and rolling.

“Really?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “How’s Gryffindor for you? I mean, they didn’t really welcome you too warmly last night.”

“It’s…alright,” she murmured, looking away. “It could be worse.” The finch’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward.

“Oh? How so?”

She was saved form answering by the reappearance of Luca, who was dragging the boy who had fallen in the lake with him.

“Let go of me!” the lake-boy snapped, pulling away.

“But—come on!” Luca pouted. “Just sit and eat breakfast!” he said, sitting the irritable Slytherin down on the bench across from Yāyún, and sitting on the other side of him, effectively sandwiching the boy between the two finches.

“So, as I was saying, how much worse could it be, Aleksandra?” Kendall asked, leaning forward.

“A lot, I would say,” scoffed the lake-boy—Tom something-or-other, wasn’t it?—sounding dismissive. “She’s a Volkov. While they don’t have quite the same reputation as the Malfoys, as an example, they are still viewed as a Dark Family here in Britain. I expect the ever-so-Light Gryffindors are just _dying_ to get their fangs into her.”

Luca scowled, elbowing Tom Something’s side. “Be nice,” he scolded. “Aleksandra’s not Dark! Besides, it’s the others that are the issue.” Luca grumbled, stabbing savagely at his eggs. “They keep whispering behind her back, and last night the Prefect totally ignored the fact that she had a question—she had her hand up and everything!”

“Really?” Kendall asked, lavender eyes narrowing speculatively. Yāyún felt his mouth twitch downwards—Kendall was doing a fantastic impression of the Twins when they were scheming. Just then, he started catching the whispers.

He supposed they had been going on for a while now, but the speakers had apparently gotten braver—or simply more foolish. They whispered around the hall, snickering behind their hands. And perhaps he would have been able to ignore it, except—

_“Why’s he here?”_

_“Where’s Clarence Potter? Isn’t he the eldest?”_

_“That’s right! Clarence is the Heir, but this kid’s…”_

_“You don’t suppose he’s_ taken _it from Clarence, do you?”_

_“No, couldn’t have…”_

_“But he could’ve, right? After all, Clarence has enemies, and they could’ve confounded the Potters, right?”_

_“That’s ridiculous, but still…who is that kid?”_

—they spoke of things that they had no knowledge of. It made his blood boil, and the heat stirred in his belly, rising and hissing. They were sheep, and their careless speculation would’ve been harmless, but they were _infuriating him_.

Abruptly, he stood, and stepped away, intent on leaving the Hall before he could lose his temper and inflict that fire upon those around him, letting the heat consume his thoughts once more. Part of him desperately wanted to, to impulsively prove to these _whisperers_ just who they were messing with, but the other, sharper part snarled no, that they would exact revenge at a later date, and that trouble would lead to naught but being punished, no matter if he was in the right.

He stalked out of the Hall, leaving the cool shelter of the castle, struggling to contain his temper. It wasn’t until he was standing by the lake that he realized that they had followed him—Kendall and Luca and Aleksandra and Tom (though the latter looked as though he had been dragged along unwillingly) stood there, watching him.

Aleksandra stepped forward, hand reaching out to touch his arm, her eyes sad and scared, and he _felt_ the yellow and sunlight spiraling through her like fire.

“They’re rude,” she murmured, patting his arm gently. “And they are дебилы.” Yāyún frowned at the unfamiliar word, her voice rolling smoothly over the sounds of ‘de-bee-ly’. “Ah, um…” she glanced around, noticing just how confused Yāyún looked. “Dumb? Ah, stupid people?”

“Idiots,” Luca chirped. “She’s right, they’re just idiots.”

“Or morons,” Tom muttered.

“Haha, you’re all so fun!” laughed Kendall. “Next time they act like that, how about we play a game with them?” his eyes glittered coldly.

It wasn’t alright, Yāyún knew. They were fools and morons and he wanted nothing more than to attack and hurt and hit them and snarl and scream. But he couldn’t. So he took that fury and shoved it away into the back of his mind, pushing it away into the depths and darkness. It wasn’t useful, not right then.

He would deal with it.

For now.

///

The next day heralded something that Yāyún hoped would be better than the day before, but it also heralded their first day of classes. At breakfast—with Ren/Kendal/ _finch #1_ and Luca/ _finch #2_ and Aleksandra and Tom, who was forcefully dragged to join them once more—they were given their schedules, with McGonagall staring disapprovingly down at Aleksandra and Luca, and Professor Sprout smiling and gentle, and Professor Snape nasty and sneering, glowering down at them sourly. For a moment, as the dour man’s eyes flit over Yāyún, he thought he saw pain and fury and loss flicker through those dark eyes, before they are covered by cold contempt as he sneers down at Yāyún.

Yāyún didn’t like the man. He was harsh and dour and cold, and his words were never kind, or even neutral. They lash out, meant to harm and hurt, to slice into the thin flesh of those around him.

He skims over his schedule, noting that most of their classes that were shared were shared with Ravenclaw, and wondered if that means that Gryffindor and Slytherin were paired as well. Tom’s hiss of irritated breath was answer enough, and Luca grinned at the boy.

“Looks like we’re going to see a lot of each other, huh?” he laughed, tapping his schedule with a long, elegant finger. Tom glowered at him.

“As if I want to see more of _you_ ,” he said cuttingly, eyes hard and cold.

Breakfast passed, filled with chattering and traded cutting remarks, and Aleksandra’s shy smiles and Kendall’s—Ren’s? His Mum had always said to call people by their preferred name—sharp grins. Soon, they are being led away, called by the herd of Hufflepuff First Years and the Fourth Year leading them up, up, _up_ , to their first class; Transfiguration, shared with the Ravenclaws. The Fourth Year—Ramirez, Yāyún thought his name was—dashed off after he saw them to Professor McGonagall’s class, racing down the ever-changing stairs to his own class.

The group of First Years filed in, the two Houses intermingling as students picked their seats. Yāyún blinked at the desk in the front of the room, watching the tabby that sat there with sharp green eyes even as Ren sat beside him.

“What?” the boy asked, lavender eyes following Yāyún’s gaze. The Ravenclaw students are muttering, and one of them points at the tabby, wondering rather more loudly than she had meant to, where the Professor was.

The tabby bunched its muscles, crouching low as the murmurs died away as students noticed the movement. With a graceful ease that seemed to almost insult the laws of gravity and physics (or what little Yāyún knew of them), the tabby sprung into the air, seeming to hang there for a moment before its shape seemed to blur, mixing with the stern shape of their Professor until only the Professor remained.

“I believe, Miss Acheson,” the stern woman began, staring down her nose at the girl, “that you will find that I am right here. Perhaps I should transfigure you a pair of eyeglasses? Or perhaps transfigure you any basic book of transfiguration? As any who had opened their books these past few months, or weeks as it may be for some, several examples of advanced transfiguration are given in the very first chapter of their transfiguration book. One of them being the Animagus transformation—the act of transforming to and from an animal form.” Professor McGonagall looked around the room. “Of course, I would hope that all of you have opened your books, and know that transfiguration is, indeed, one of the most dangerous of the magical arts that utilize a wand. Any messing around in _my_ class will result in the offender being removed from the class entirely. Am I clear?”

The entire class was silent. Seemingly appeased by their stunned silence, McGonagall walked to her desk and retrieved a box of matches.

“Mr. Alden,” she said calmly, calling the boy forward. “Pass one out to each of your classmates, please.”

As the boy went to each desk, handing out matches, Professor McGonagall turned to the blackboard that stood behind her desk.

“Today,” she began, “we will be attempting to turn our matches into needles.”

And so began Yāyún’s first day of classes.

///

As it turned out, only two of the students managed to transform their match into a needle—the Ravenclaw girl that Professor McGonagall had chided, and one of the Ravenclaw boys, earning Ravenclaw twenty points.

It wasn’t like no one else even got close, however. Several of the Hufflepuffs and other Ravenclaws had managed to get their matches close, but not perfect; either it was silver and rather pointy, but still wood, or it was a wood-colored and textured needle. Some didn’t even manage that. Ren was one of the Hufflepuffs who managed to turn his silver and pointy, but didn’t quite manage to turn the wood into metal.

Yāyún…well, he had tried, and had managed to get it thinner and a bit pointier, but nothing else.  When McGonagall had passed by them, she had caught sight of his attempt and had stared down her nose at him with faint disapproval, as though she had expected _more_ of him, somehow.

After two hours of Transfiguration, they are released to their next class: History of Magic.

It was the most _boring_ class Yāyún had ever attended, including some of the seminars his sensei had asked him to attend to help with the younger kids—which had required him to go so slow that he had almost fallen asleep. (He really wasn’t a good teacher.)

History of Magic was _worse_. The ghost— _ghost?!_ —that was teaching them had the worst lecturing voice that Yāyún had ever heard, droning on and on in a monotone that, within minutes, had almost every student’s eyelids drooping and their heads falling onto their desks.

Yāyún fought against the soporific effect, trying to stay awake for the first fifteen minutes of the hour-long class, before giving in grudgingly as his body committed mutiny; he was asleep almost before his head met the desk.

///

Lunch was a…mildly sordid affair. The whispers were back, baseless speculation running rife through the school. However, instead of it being just the four of them—Tom having refused to be parted from his Housemates for lunch as well as breakfast—Diggory had joined them as well, talking about near inane topics. Or, at least, in Yāyún’s opinion.

“You have to admit, the Falmouth Falcons have a good chance of winning the League this year,” argued Diggory. Luca rolled his eyes.

“You mean just like the Chudley Cannons have a splendid chance of making it to the Finals of the World Cup?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” Diggory exclaimed indignantly. “The Falcons have a better team this year! They’ve got a new Seeker and a new Keeper; Ralston is a killer Keeper, and Daley hasn’t lost them a match yet! Very unlike the Cannons, who have lost every single match they’ve been in thus far in the League.”

Aleksandra giggled.   
“What?” both of them asked, turning to her.

“Your names for your Quidditch teams,” she said, laughing. “They are very funny! What is a Falmouth? Or a Chudley? They are very strange names.”

The two Quidditch fanatics looked at each other.

“Oh?” Luca asked, leaning forward. “Then what are some names of Russian Quidditch teams?”

“Ah, I know only of a few,” Aleksandra murmured. “Cousin’s favorite is Сочи Сабль, but Papa likes Соловецкие Нерпы.”

“So-chee sah-blih?” Luca asked, sounding out the odd words. “So-lo-vet-ski nyair-pih?”

“O-oh! I believe you call them the…Sochi Sables and the Solovetsky…Seals…?” Aleksandra trailed off, looking uncertain.

“Oh!” Luca said, looking as though she had cleared up a huge mystery. “The Sables and the Seals! Why didn’t you just _say so_?”

“I did…” Aleksandra murmured, looking put out.

The conversation promptly turned back to Quidditch, and Ren grinned at Aleksandra.

“Here,” he said, passing her some of the raspberries he had on his plate. “Ignore those two; they’ve got nothing between their ears but air and broomsticks.” Aleksandra giggled. “Here,” Yāyún looked up. “You have some too.” Ren was holding out raspberries, the small red fruit sitting innocently in his palm. Yāyún frowned for a moment, before reaching out quickly and taking them, promptly popping one into his mouth. Ren blinked for a moment, before laughing as Yāyún savored the tangy taste. “I guess you really like raspberries, huh?”

Yāyún shot him a sidelong glance, holding the newly-his raspberries protectively in his hand.

“Okay, okay,” Ren laughed, holding his hands up. “They’re yours. Do you want any more?” Yāyún paused, sending a covetous glance at the last few raspberries on Ren’s plate. “Here,” Ren said, holding out those last few berries. “You clearly want them more than I do.”

“Thank you,” Yāyún intoned before snatching the raspberries, popping another into his mouth. As Yāyún ate, Ren and Aleksandra traded glances, before bursting into laughter—Ren, loud and cheerful; Aleksandra, soft and bubbly. Yāyún sent them both a sullen glare, which merely set the two off even further.

Yāyún rolled his eyes, returning to his meal and the last of the raspberries. Lunch would be ending soon—let them laugh their meal away. _He_ didn’t care.

///

The rest of the classes for the day were slow; their double-period Charms class with the Ravenclaws was spent mostly covering the basic principles of the Charms branch of magic, and reminding them of the dangers inherent behind the magic should they make a mistake. Similarly, they spent their hour class for Herbology with Professor Sprout, learning their tools, and covering what they would be doing in their next class on Thursday.

Thankfully, neither of the classes were as _boring_ or _soporific_ as History of Magic had been, and Yāyún returned to the Hufflepuff Common Room that night with what little homework the First Years had been assigned—mostly just reading, with some research thrown in—finished, having spent the afternoon reading his course books under a tree near the lake while the sun shone down, warm and gentle.

That night, Yāyún wrote a letter to his Mum and Da, detailing the events of his first two days as well as writing one for Clarence and for Arianna and Callista. He would send them with a school owl in the morning, but until then—

With an exhausted sigh he flopped onto his bed; Ren was sitting on his own bed, reading.

—he would get some much needed sleep.

///

(The wind is never alone, no matter how much it pretends and runs. There is always something there to keep it company-no matter what.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian is a result of me going around Google, using Google translate, and then confirming its translations with a bunch of other sites or just straight out translating it myself. So if the Russian is horribly mangled, please forgive me and correct anything I might have gotten wrong!  
> (Quick Translations):  
> Russian:   
> Дебилы—'morons' or 'fools'.  
> Сочи Сабль—the Sochi Sables, a Quidditch team that Aleksandra’s cousin, Konstantin, is a fan of. (A made-up-by-me, non-cannon Quidditch team)  
> Соловецкие Нерпы—the Solovetsky Seals, a Quidditch team that Aleksandra's father is a fan of. (A made-up-by-me, non-cannon Quidditch team)


	16. A Momentary Pause

Yāyún woke up Tuesday morning with Alice walking insistently on his pillows and his face. The young kneazel was imperious, and after a few moments, Yāyún breathed out a sigh, and shoots a glare at Alice. She sat there, smugly staring at him with her blue eyes. He sat up, sending an unhappy glower at the sunlight streaming in cheerfully from the window.

Ren was still asleep, sprawled out on his bed, mouth open and drooling. Yāyún frowned at him, feeling rather irritated that _he_ was awake and the other wasn’t. Then he stopped, and looked at Alice.

“Can you wake him up?” he asked bluntly, and Alice seemed to almost smirk up at him, as though to ask _did you even have to ask?_ “Make it irritating.” Alice almost seemed to raise an imperious eyebrow at him. “Please,” Yāyún added grudgingly. Alice rose, flicking the tip of her tail as she leapt soundlessly off the edge of his—admittedly, _very_ comfortable—bed.

Yāyún sat there for a moment, and silently lamented the fact that now that he was awake, there wouldn’t be any going back to sleep for him. Not only would Alice merely wake him up once again, but he didn’t think that he would even be able to return to blissful sleep again. He slipped out from under the warm covers, and scooped up his school robes. If he was going to be awake _this_ early—the sun seemed to have only recently peaked its face above the horizon, the chill of dawn still permeated the room—then he was going to enjoy the luxury of a hot shower.

Steam filled the bathroom as he stood under the hot water, letting it slide over him and wash away some of the tension that had collected inside him since he had come to Hogwarts. After a few moments, he scrubbed shampoo into his hair and washed himself, stepping out of the shower once he had washed off the last of the soap. He dried himself for a moment and stood in front of the sink and stared at the fogged up mirror for a moment, breathing in the smell of plain, unscented soap.

He stared at his eyes, the impossibly bright green making a pang of almost-pain ripple in his chest as he thought of his Mum. The heat stirred in his belly for a moment, shifting restlessly.

He liked being at Hogwarts. It was freeing, to not have his family watching his every move and clinging around him like miring mud or sticky honey. But at the same time it pulled and wrenched at him, making him want to say, _no more, send me_ home.

It was straining and almost-painful, and he stuffed it away into the back of his head. After all, if he didn’t think of it, it couldn’t hurt him.

He dressed quickly, and Ren sent him a near reproachful look as he exited the bathroom, though it was tempered by the amusement in his eyes.

“Rude,” Ren accused. “You set your cat on me!”

“Really?” Yāyún asked, letting one of his eyebrows raise.

“Yes,” Ren scowled, but his lips twitched. “Don’t do it again, _Mr. Grumpy_.”

“Hm.” Yāyún grunted. “Maybe if you don’t sleep so late.”

“Rude,” Ren whined as he walked past Yāyún into the bathroom, intent on taking his own shower. “If you used all the hot water, I’ll hurt you,” he threatened.

“Oh?”

“I’ll turn your hair _pink_!”

“How?”

“…I’ll find a way.”

“Hm.”

“I _will!_ ”

“Right.”

///

Having breakfast early was _far_ better, in Yāyún’s opinion. Most of the students were still asleep or only just stirring from their warm beds, and it left the Great Hall blissfully quiet and empty. It gave him time to think, and retreat into himself in a way that he hadn’t really had the chance to do since arriving at the castle.

Ren was even quiet, and seemed to be ignoring him, as though acknowledging that Yāyún needed some time to himself. Though he doubted that was the case—more likely the other boy was sulky about being woken up so rudely by Alice, despite his amusement over it.

The abrupt appearance of more raspberries on his plate had him stopping though. He glanced up, and Ren sent him a smirk.

“I don’t like raspberries very much,” he said easily, and the lie slid off his tongue like honey. “You appreciate them more.”

Yāyún picked one up and put it into his mouth, biting into it and letting the sweetly tart flavor flood his mouth. “Thank you.”

They continued in silence for a little while longer, and Yāyún cast his gaze up to the Head Table. Professor McGonagall sat near the middle, beside the Headmaster, and she looked at him carefully, though Yāyún thought he saw the disappointment from the day before lingering in her eyes. A dour, sallow faced man sat at the far end of the table, parallel the Slytherin table, where only a few students sat, eating their breakfast in relative peace. He glowered at Yāyún, a vicious look entering his black eyes.

Yāyún looked at the man for a moment, and wondered if this Professor Snape is the very same Severus Snape—or _Snivellus_ , as his Da had called him, though the cruel name had very little appeal to him—that his parents had told him tales of.

“Excuse me?”

Yāyún turned. A girl stood there, fidgeting nervously.

“Can I sit with you two?” she asked, and Yāyún frowned, eyeing the black-and-yellow edging to her robes. She was clearly a Hufflepuff, so why was she asking to sit with them? As far as he was concerned, she could sit anywhere she pleased; he wasn’t going to stop her…so long as she didn’t try and sit too close to him. _That_ would irritate him.

“It’s a free table,” Ren pointed out unhelpfully, grinning at her. “Sit where you want.”

She nodded, and sat down beside Ren, though with plenty of room between them.

“I’m Murry,” she introduced herself, tucking a lock of her short brown hair behind her ear. “Murry Becke.”

Yāyún nodded, and Ren laughed.

“I’m Ren Kendall—call me Ren, please. I don’t really like being called _Kendall_. And that’s Hadrian Potter over there, if you wondering about _Mr. Grumpy_.” The irritating nickname startled a laugh out of the girl, and she sent a curious look at Yāyún as she filled her plate.

“So,” she began after a moment. “Are you really the older brother of _the_ Clarence Potter?” Yāyún felt his spine stiffen, and he breathed out a harsh sigh. He had run into such questions before, but it still managed to irritate him when people asked him such an _obvious_ question.

“Yes,” he answered, not really caring that his tone was clipped.

“Really?” the girl gasped, and a small muscle in Yāyún’s eye twitched. “I thought it was just a rumor! Oh, but the Daily Prophet _did_ talk about you…I thought it was just Skeeter making up stories again!”

“Well, as you can see, Mr. Grumpy over here is clearly real.” As though sensing an impending explosion, Ren had cut in, his grin tinged with a crueler smirk.

“Oh, but what about Clarence?” the girl asked, ignoring Ren’s warning tone. “Isn’t he the Heir? If you’re the eldest, why is Clarence the Heir? Maybe they just gave it to him because he’s the Boy-Who-Lived? You know, there’s a rumor going around that you’re, you know, _illegitimate_ , and that’s why you’re not the Heir.”

Yāyún clenched his fist, and fought against the nearly overpowering urge to throttle the girl.

“Oh, really?” Ren asked pointedly, and the girl nodded.

“Yes! You wouldn’t believe how fast the rumor mill works here; it’s so much faster than the Muggle Primary my Mum sent me to. It’s also so much more interesting! You should hear all the rumors flying around about you. They’re so much more _fascinating_ than the ones I heard at Primary; some people think that you’re even here to steal your brother’s fame! You aren’t, are you? I mean, that’s not a very brotherly thing to do, you know. Not that I would know, I don’t have any brothers or sisters, or even cousins! I want some, though.” The girl prattled on and on, and finally Yāyún had had enough. He rose sharply, and stalked away from her before he gave in to the swelling heat in his belly, the urge to throttle and _hurt_ the girl for daring insinuate such things about his family and that he’d _hurt his family_.

Just as he stepped out of the Hall, though, he ran into someone. Or, more precisely, _two_ someones.

“Who’s this?”

It was the Twins.

“I don’t know, Fred, but it looks awfully like our dear little Harry-kins!”

“I do believe you’re right, George!”

The Twins grab his arms, and drag him off into a side hall.

“So, what’s got your knickers in a twist, Harry-kins?” one of them asked, and Yāyún felt a faint blush rise in his cheeks at their crude wording. He looked away, but before they could press for answers, another voice interrupted.

“It’s the students,” Ren said. “They’re being _awfully rude_ with their rumors, slandering him left and right.” Ren sighed dramatically, and Yāyún sent him a glare. “A true travesty, as Mr. Grumpy here will likely have a good many of them in the Hospital Wing before the week is out with the way they’re going. Not that that’s a _true_ travesty. More a lack of good judgment.”

The Twins exchanged a look, and one of them slung an arm over Ren’s shoulder.

“We _like_ you,” one said. “Say, Fred, what time is it?”

“Early enough for a game, George!”

“Well, we do like you, and _I_ , for one, would _love_ to talk to you some more later, our dear underclassman. But for now…”

One of the Twins danced forward, and whipped out his wand, tapping Yāyún on his head sharply. And even without looking, Yāyún knew that he had done _something,_ and he growled, tensing.

“Run!”

And they ran, the Twins dragging Ren behind them as they laughed and Yāyún chased them in a near-deranged parody of tag that they had been playing for years.

And if Yāyún was smiling as he chased them, his lips twitching upwards in a fierce, feral grin, then they certainly didn’t say anything. After all, what happened between them, _stayed_ between them.

///

In the end, the Twins end up leading both of them around in their game, and drop the two of them off at their first class of the day—History of Magic, double period.

“Don’t have too much trouble sleeping,” one of the Twins taunted them, and the two of them grinned and vanished down the halls. The two of them are out of breath, and Ren huffed out a laugh.

“They are _mad_ ,” he said, and Yāyún snorted an agreement. He felt _lighter_ , somehow, as though the chase and the exertion it had brought with it had lifted a burden from his shoulders and made it easier to breathe. A laugh escaped his lips, and soon the two of them were laughing themselves down from a high borne of exertion and adrenaline.

“I didn’t know you could laugh,” Ren ribbed him, grinning tiredly as they sat at their desk.

“Everyone can laugh,” Yāyún told him matter-of-factly.

“Well, _yeah_ , but—” The rest of their class began to file in at that moment, and Ren cut himself off. The other students—once again a mix of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws—eyed them disbelievingly, as though incredulous that someone had actually showed up _early_ for History of Magic, the class that even the First Years agreed was the most _boring_ class in the school.

Ren rolled his eyes exasperatedly at Yāyún, who merely looked ahead at the ghostly form of Professor Binns and wondered if he could possibly convince his Mum—or Uncle Moony, whoever was amenable—to come and teach History of Magic.

///

Their last class of the day was Potions. The First Year Hufflepuffs, lead by a Fourth Year girl, were lead down into the chill depths of the castle. The Becke girl from breakfast glanced at Yāyún nervously, but a single glare from Ren had her paling. Yāyún raised an eyebrow at his roommate.

“She’s a gossip,” Ren explained, smirking. “And horribly tactless. I proved to her why such things are…looked down upon, after this morning’s fiasco.”

“Hm.” Yāyún hummed. With how Ren could be so very slippery and sly sometimes, he wondered if the Hat had pondered upon placing him in Slytherin as opposed to Hufflepuff.

The Fourth Year left them in front of the door to the Potions classroom, wishing them luck.

“Be careful,” she warned. “Snape may not pick on us Hufflepuffs as much as he does the Gryffs, but he’s still one of the strictest teachers and the most scathing and least tolerant of mistakes. Be sure to come back to the Common Room soon after your class ends; the Sixth Years will run you through a few tips and precautions.”

The chill air of the corridor set Yāyún’s arms prickling with goosebumps, and he fought back a shiver as the door opened. There he stood, his face as sallow and severe as it had been at breakfast.

“Well?” he snapped as they stood there for a moment, frozen. “Get in, you dunderheads!”

They moved forward, and Yāyún felt a swell of distaste for the man. He was harsh and insulting, snapping and snarling at his students as though vinegar would net him more flies than honey.

“Pair up,” Professor Snape hissed, sweeping to the front of the room. Ren immediately claimed Yāyún as his partner, and soon each of the pairs had claimed a desk.

“You will set up your cauldrons,” Snape announced, and there was a scramble of activity as the students brought out their cauldrons. “Each pair will work together to create their potion; any failure on the part of either of the pair, effects _both_ grades.” Snape lifted a parchment.

“Becke, Murry!” he called out, a sneer planted firmly on his face.

“H-Here,” Becke squeaked, raising her hand. Snape sent her a cold look, and she put her hand down. Snape went on down the list, calling out each of their names.

“Kendall, Ren!” he said eventually, and Ren smirked viciously.

“Here, sir,” he said easily, letting a hint of… _something_ filter into his expression, and Yāyún felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift, prickling as the heat in his belly bubbled. Snape sent him a scathing glare, and seemed on the verge of demanding, quite rudely, that Ren ‘wipe that smirk off his face’, or some such, but seemed to think better of it.

It didn’t take him too much longer to reach Yāyún.

“Potter, Hadrian!” he called out, sneering heavily as his dark eyes locked onto Yāyún.

“Here,” Yāyún answered, grasping carefully at the lessons that his sensei had taught him. The heat in his belly tossed, and Yāyún clung onto those lessons, onto his sensei’s words of ‘ _be calm, Hadrian. Letting your opponent rile you up looses you half the battle._ ’

Snape’s eyes glittered with hateful malice as he sneered. “Ah, yes, our resident… _celebrity by association_. Tell me, _Potter_ ,” he spat, “where would you find a bezoar?”

Yāyún blinked. He cast back in his memory, vaguely remembering a passage in one of the later chapters of his Potions textbook listing a few poisons and antidotes. A bezoar, he thought, had been one…

“In…the stomach of a goat, sir.” Yāyún said finally, frowning as he bit down on his tongue. The question had been one that only someone who had read into some of the later chapters of their book would have been able to answer; it showed that either Snape had unrealistic expectations of his students—after all, who expected someone to read to _Chapter 15_ of a book ahead of time?—or that he was deliberately choosing questions that he didn’t expect Yāyún to be able to answer correctly, in an attempt to embarrass him.

Snape’s face spasmed briefly, and he scowled. “Well done, Potter,” he snarled, as though the words tasted foul on his tongue. “Now, name three potions that use porcupine quills in some fashion.”

“The Boil Cure potion,” Yāyún began, thinking. Beside him, Ren hissed under his breath, his lavender eyes narrowed as he glared at their professor. “The Pepperup Potion, and…the Deflating Drought,” Yāyún finished. The heat inside of him leaped, and he bit his tongue sharply, refusing to let himself lose control. That would be letting him win, and he wasn’t about to lose to _this man_.

“It seems you’re not as much of a dunderhead as I had thought,” Snape said grudgingly, glowering. “What is another name for atropa acuminata, and name a potion it is used in!”

Yāyún stared at the sour man. _Atropa acuminata_? What sort of name was _that_? He searched his memory, looking for an answer, but came up empty-handed.

“I’m…sorry,” Yāyún admitted slowly, the words feeling like acid in his mouth. “I don’t know.”

Ren bit off a snarl.

“Well, well, well,” Snape smirked cruelly. “It seems that fame, even by a sad proxy, is not everything. And for your information, _Potter_ , atropa acuminata is another name for the plant known as Indian Belladonna. Well?” he snapped, turning to the other students. “Why aren’t you writing all of that down?!

They scrambled to retrieve paper, and Yāyún swallowed drily, forcing back the fury that threatened to flood over him like thick, water-like fire, consuming him and drowning him in its depths. As the _scritch_ ing of quills on parchment sounded out around the room, Snape began to pace in front of his desk.

“There will be no silly wand-waving in this class,” he began. “Potion making is a subtle and deadly art, one that few appreciate. I can teach you to save lives, brew a sleeping potion so potent it can keep a wizard asleep for a thousand years, and even,” he paused, “to stopper death itself.” He cast his gaze around the room, a sneer chill and set on his face. “That is, if you’re not all so many dunderheads as I _usually have to teach_.”

The rest of the class was spent with him snapping out questions at them, and snarling impatiently whenever one of them didn’t get it right or took too long.

By the time they were freed, one or two of the girls looked like they were on the verge of breaking into tears, and the Fourth Year who was waiting to escort them back to the Common Room took one look at them as sighed.

“Pretty bad, huh?” he asked sympathetically. One of the boys nodded emphatically. “Well,” the Fourth Year began, “we have about…two hours until dinner, so why don’t I take you down to the kitchens for a treat? You deserve it, after dealing with Snape. Come on.”

He lead them down, away from the dark and dank parts of the castle and into the warmer, better-lit areas. Eventually, they entered the room full of barrels that lead to the Common Room, but the Fourth Year walked past the barrels, ignoring them in favor of a portrait of fruit at the far end of the room.

“Come on,” he said, winking. He reached up to the pear that sat on one side of the portrait and… _tickled_ it. Yāyún raised an eyebrow as the pear _giggled_ before a handle appeared and the Fourth Year opened the now-revealed door. “Go on,” he encouraged. “The House Elves will be absolutely thrilled to see you.”

One by one, they ducked into the room beyond. Yāyún looked around, and tensed. It was hustling and bustling, all of the House Elves hurrying around preparing the food for dinner that night. The Fourth Year ducked in after them, and one of the House Elves bustled up to him.

“What would Young Masters and Missies be wanting?” it asked, luminous blue eyes wide.

“A tray of chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate with those little marshmallows for everyone,” the Fourth Year requested, and the House Elf bobbed a little bow, leading them over to a small, round table in the corner.

“Of course, Young Master, Young Masters and Missies can be waiting and eating here,” it said eagerly.

“Thank you,” the Fourth Year murmured. The House Elf beamed.

“Floppy bes only doing what House Elves bes supposed to be doing,” the newly named Floppy demurred before scampering off.

“I have to get to my next class,” the Fourth Year explained, rising. “From here, you can get into the Common Room; if any of you have letters you’d like to send, the Owlery is in the North Tower. You can try and get there on your own, but I would wait until the older years get out of their classes first, someone should be more than willing to lead you to the Owlery. See you,” he bid them, leaving the room.

“Here bes Young Masters and Missies cookies and hot chocolates,” Floppy announced, using its House Elf magic to levitate the trays onto the table. There was a general murmuring of _thank you_ from around the table, and Floppy blushed.

“Floppy only bes doing what Floppy was asked to be doing,” it demurred once more before vanishing back into the bustle of the kitchen. Ren nudged Yāyún, pushing a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of him alongside several cookies.

“Professor Snape’s…really mean.” One of them said.

“And scary too,” agreed another.

“Almost none of the questions he asked were in the chapters of the book that I read,” complain another.

“How far did you read?”

“To about chapter five; I figured that would be enough, you know?”

“Really? I only read the first chapter…”

Yāyún closed his eyes, sipping at his hot chocolate. Now that he wasn’t so _mad_ , he could feel exhaustion creeping up on him. He really just wanted to be alone right then, with maybe Alice beside him demanding attention, because Alice was imperious and would definitely do that regardless of whether he wanted to be utterly alone or not.

Yeah. That sounded good right about then.

///

“Professor Snape is…harsh,” explained one of the Sixth Years.

“That’s an understatement,” hissed another, tossing her black hair.

“He has a right to be,” pointed out the first. “Potions is a very dangerous branch of magic; one mistake could mean a deadly explosion right in the face of the brewer.”

“Maybe,” scoffed the black haired girl. “But that doesn’t mean he can be a huge prat about it!”

“Granted,” another agreed, chewing at his lip. “He doesn’t have to be so harsh about everything, but you have to remember that he’s also a Potion Master who’s being forced to teach student who are just starting out and are making mistakes that must aggravate him, as they must seem so obvious to him.”

“I hate it when you make sense.” The black haired girl muttered. “Anyway, since Snape is so…rough around the edges, you need to keep a few things in mind,” she explained to the First Years. “First of all, you always want to read ahead in your Potions textbook. He’ll be testing you, quizzing you, and he often chooses questions that are from farther ahead in the book than anyone could have expected. So, reading ahead equals him being less irritated.”

“Second,” picked up one of the other Sixth Years, “is that whenever he pairs you up for a potion, you don’t complain. Actually, don’t complain, period. It only makes him _mad_.”

“Third,” the girl continued. “When he writes the instructions for a potion on the blackboard, copy them down before you start, that way you’re not having to try and read them through the cauldron steam.”

They continued on in that vein, and Yāyún finally sighed and walked up to one of the Sixth Years. He looked down at Yāyún, puzzled.

“Whatchu need?” he asked, tucking a flyaway lock of his mouse brown hair behind his ear.

“I would like to send a letter,” Yāyún said bluntly.

“Oh, you want to get to the Owlery? Come on, then.”

The Owlery, as Yāyún found out, was cold and dirty, straw strewn everywhere and owl pellets everywhere he stepped.

“Just ask one of the school owls,” the Sixth Year explained. “Just tell them who you’re sending it to, and they’ll take it.”

Yāyún stepped forward, and a big Great Gray owl fluttered down in front of him, holding out its leg. It hooted impatiently as Yāyún tied the letters to its leg carefully.

“Lily Potter,” he said, and the owl hooted once before flying out of the window.

“Come on,” the Sixth Year said, reaching out and grasping Yāyún’s shoulder. “You should probably get your homework done before you head to bed.”

Yāyún pulled himself free, and sent the Sixth Year a sharp look.

“Don’t touch me,” he said firmly, and the Sixth Year frowned, his face turning faintly angry.

“Fine,” he snapped, walking past Yāyún. “Come on, I don’t have all night.”

Yāyún suppressed a sigh. People could be so very strange.

///

Later that night, Yāyún sat by one of the windows in the room he shared with Ren, stroking Alice. The moon was high and bright, illuminating the lake and making the Forbidden Forest look even more intimidating and dark.

Alice _mrow_ ed up at him, leaping up into his lap. She pushed her head against his chin, and Yāyún smiled faintly. The near-constant war in his head, the sense of _free-no-not-need-them-no-don’t-go-_ away fading for a moment. Alice _mrow_ ed again, as stared up at him with her wide blue eyes, demanding that he pay attention to _her_ , not whatever was going on in his head.

He huffed a laugh, his hands coming up and rubbing her ears. She purred, and a smile found its way to his face.

So far, despite the actions of the other students and the horrible attitude of some of the teachers, Yāyún found himself enjoying being at Hogwarts. It was mystical and enchanting, and he just wanted to sit back for a moment and let the magic of the castle wash over him. It was nice and warm, despite the chill from the window. It sort of tingled, and he fought back a shiver even as he leaned forward and placed his forehead on Alice’s.

“I think…” Yāyún looked up at the moon, bright and sharp, glowing in the sky, “that I’ll like it here, Alice.”

Alice mewed.

///

(Sometimes, even the ever-moving wind must stop and look around, and realize just where it is. Life is a journey—not a destination. Even for the wind.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…here’s this chapter! I hope you all enjoyed.   
> Next chapter should have more Aleksandra, Luca, and Tom, for those of you who want to see them.  
> Stay Awesome!


	17. Chapter 17

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Kendall. Are you aware of why I called you both in here?” Sprout asked, looking at them sternly, her usual smile absent. Yāyún shook his head, and Ren shrugged innocently. She took a breath. “One of the older Hufflepuffs came to me yesterday to inform me that the two of you reduced one of your yearmates—Miss Becke—to tears through your behavior.” Her face hardened. “I do not accept bullying in this House, Mr. Potter, Mr. Kendall. Should this occur again, I will be contacting your parents and informing them of your actions. As it is, you will be serving a detention with Mr. Filch on Saturday night, at 8 o’clock.”

She took a deep breath, her face creasing with an odd sort of tiredness. “Am I clear?” she asked.

“Perfectly,” Ren said lightly, but there was something almost wooden about the tone of his voice. Yāyún nodded along as well, turning his eyes away. 

He didn’t like this. Who was she to judge them from a clearly biased account of the events? He hadn’t even been present for whatever had caused the girl to start crying. He shifted, biting his tongue. He needed to move; energy was itching in his limbs, begging to be used. 

“Mr. Potter? I will need you to speak,” Sprout said firmly. Yāyún bit back a growl of irritation and met her gaze squarely.

“Crystal clear,” he said curtly. A frown tugged at her lips, but she nodded.

“Very well. You may both leave.”

They left in silence. It was only when they sat down outside on the grass that Ren spoke.

“She wasn’t being fair.” The words were spoken softly, almost whispered. Ren flopped back onto the grass, staring up at the sky above, brilliantly blue. “Why are adults never fair?”

Yāyún looked away. He didn’t have an answer for that. He just sat there, the wind tousling his hair and pushing it into his eyes as he stared out at the landscape ahead. The lake, the forested mountain range, the river that wound it’s way down from the mountains like liquid silver—it yawned, gigantic.

Energy itched in his legs, in his arms; the heat coiled loosely. He wanted to move, to do _something_. Staring out at those mountains, he bit his lip savagely. 

He wanted to see his Mum. His Da. Clarence. Arianna and Callista.

He wanted his family, the ones he wasn’t sure he could live without. But he couldn’t have them, not here. And…he didn’t want to disappoint them.

///

Classes for the rest of the week passed by in a blur of activity that had Yāyún’s head spinning. Granted, most of it was very basic, simple magic—practicing wand movements, or attempting to turn a match into a needle. All the same—or perhaps because of it—he felt twitchy. Irritable, even.

But. His Mum had made him promise to at least _try_ to behave, to be _nice_. So he ended up trying to push the twitchiness (and, consequently, the irritability) away, into the back of his head, locked up in a little box until he could control it better. He, much to his increasing ire, failed a little less than half the time.

So, when their detention rolled around, he had to chew his tongue to keep his temper in check when Filch began to degrade them. 

“Little ungrateful brats,” he hissed. “In my day we would’ve just strung you up by your thumbs in the dungeons. They’ve gone soft on you, though—you’ll just be cleaning the trophy room tonight.” A pause. “Without magic.” Filch snickered hoarsely. “Won’t be going back to bed ’till you’re done, either.”

He dropped them off there, at the trophy room, glowering balefully as he gave them gloves and cleaning materials, before glaring. “You’ll be cleaning the whole room,” he informed them. “Clean and polish the trophies and the glass, and make sure you clean the floors.” He gave them an ugly smile. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

Yāyún pulled on his gloves with little ceremony, picking up the broom. Ren curled his lip, scowling at the gloves in his hand. “I suppose I’ll start with the trophies, then,” he sighed finally, shaking his head. “You got the floor?”

Yāyún nodded, still trying to rein in his temper, and began to sweep. _Aggressively._

At one point, he was almost chasing Ren with the broom, and it’s really not his fault that the other boy was always where he needed to sweep next, no matter what Ren said. Once he finished that, he gets the supplies to join Ren in scrubbing the trophies and the glass. 

He set to it similarly to the sweeping— _aggressively_. Because if he had to do this while being this irritated, he was damn well going to get it sparkling by the time he was done. And shove Filch’s words right back into his teeth.

The way he was scrubbing had Ren sending him an alarmed look, but he didn’t care. This was _going to be finished_ by the time Filch got back, or he’d _eat his shoes_. Or something.

He returned to the dorms exhausted, and grimly satisfied. The irritation that’d been gnawing at his belly was gone.

///

The next weeks passed mostly the same. Yāyún got gradually more twitchy, despite the wild games of tag that the twins drag him on before class, or just before dinner, or the exercises his teacher had assigned him to keep his stamina and strength up.

The rumors didn’t help, either, though they did die down after the second week, the news of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’s elder brother’ becoming less interesting than the newest gossip. 

Letters from his family come once a week, and the sick, desperate tug of homesickness faded away, slowly.

And eventually, when it all became too much, he remembered the furious cleaning he had done in that detention. And he looked around his room, Alice curled regally in his lap, and the floors somewhat dirty, and the sheets in disarray—and he carefully deposited Alice onto the bed, and began to clean.

—Well, after he called a House Elf and then had to explain that no, he wasn’t trying to do their job, he was trying to, er…blow off steam, and that yes, this was what he wanted to do. The House Elf had twisted her ears, before nodding, and getting him the cleaning supplies.

It helped. He could take out his aggression on the walls, on the floors, and those things couldn’t be hurt by him—they could take his irritation and not _break_ , like so many other things were wont to.

It—becomes routine.

///

It was the day before Halloween, and they were finally learning their next Charms spell, one that they’ve been working on the basics for for _weeks_. Well maybe not _weeks_ , but they were all getting impatient anyhow. Flitwick was bouncing behind his desk, clearly excited. 

“Now, children, remember the wand movement we’ve been practicing!” he nearly trilled. “Swish and flick, after me.” The whole class repeated the movement with him, giving a general chant of _swish and flick_. He nodded, and continued. “The incantation is _Wingardium Leviosa_. Always be very clear when you say the incantation—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ’s’ instead of ‘f’ and ended up with a buffalo on his chest!” he flicked his wand. “All together now.”

They all tried it together, once, before being set to work on their feathers with their partners. Yāyún tried the spell on his, speaking lowly but clearly, trying to remember where the stresses on the words fell. Ren wasn’t having any luck either, and he laughed.

“This is harder than it looks!” he said, grinning. Yāyún rolled his eyes, turning back to his feather, when— _Fwoosh_.

Luca sat, face sooty, in the aftermath of the brilliant flash. His wand was held loosely in his hand, and he blinked rapidly. Flitwick tutted, flicking his wand and vanishing the soot. “There’s always one,” he muttered, before producing another feather. “Don’t _stab_ it, Mr. Capello,” he informed the finch. “Simply swish and flick, like we practiced.”

The finch laughed, nodding, and Flitwick went back to monitoring the whole class. They slowly went back to practicing, the general clamor growing, until—

“Oh, oh look, everyone! Ms. Volkova has done it!” And, indeed, there was a single, white feather rising to the ceiling. “Wonderful, wonderful,” Flitwick cheered. “Five points to Gryffindor!”

///

It was as they were leaving, the finches chattering while Yāyún and Aleksandra were quiet, listening (at least on Aleksandra’s part), that he heard it.

“I bet she was cheating.” It was said loudly, from behind them. “I mean, she’s Dark, so what can you expect?”

“She’s a right terror,” another added on, something slyly cruel in their voice. “How on earth did she even get _into_ Hogwarts? She should’ve been sent to Durmstrang, just like the rest of her horrid family.”

Aleksandra’s head was down, her knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her bag tightly. Luca reached over and grabbed her elbow, beginning to tug her forward and away.

“I bet that when they figure out how much she’s been cheating, they’ll expel her. And when they do, they’ll send her to Azkaban for all the Dark magic she does,” a third one jumped in, gleefully malicious. “And then, they’ll hunt down the rest of her family, and throw them in too!”

Yāyún grit his teeth. This—this made the heat in his belly rise, made him feel almost angry. Ren grabbed his arm and pulled him forward before he could do anything, and the four of them marched on, refusing to acknowledge the insults hurled their way.

Nevertheless, none of them could stop thinking about it.

///

They didn’t talk about it. Aleksandra refused to, turned away and closed her mouth whenever they tried to bring it up. So they didn’t. It was Luca, who explained.

“They don’t like her,” he grimaced. “They bully her, lock her out of the dorm room, and spell or put pranks into her bed or clothes when she’s not looking.” He looked around, looking guilty. “It’s been going on for months, but no one’s gone to McGonagall about it; I don’t think anyone will. They—they all think that she’s Dark, and that she’s evil because of it.”

Yāyún clenched his hands into fists. “Names?” he asked, shortly. Luca glanced up, surprised, before shrugging. 

“Everyone in our year, at least in Gryffindor.” He began. “I know most of the second years are in on it too, and…” he rattled off a list of names. “Those are the rest that I know of for the rest of the House. Why?”

Yāyún glanced over to see Ren staring at him with a slowly dawning grin. “Don’t worry about it,” he said finally, eyes narrow. “I’ll…take care of it.”

Ren laughed. “Oh, I think I know where this is going,” he said gleefully. “Tell me that you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Yāyún shrugged, fighting back the urge to smirk as the heat bubbled in his belly. He knew just who to point in the bullies’ direction.

///

It was the Halloween feast when Yāyún saw the fruits of the Twin’s labors. And it was _glorious_. The first wave was generalized across the hall, turning everyone different, Halloween themed colors. Then, a secondary charm activated—the people who had been bullying Aleksandra (or so he assumed) promptly had their hair dyed neon green.

Yāyún smirked, ever so slightly, into his cup. This was just the beginning.

///

A week later, just before curfew, Yāyún was in his dorm room, reading before bed when a Prefect knocked at the door. He poked his head in, frowning. “Potter, you’ve got a visitor.” The Prefect grimaced. “A girl from Gryffindor, your year.”

He got up and followed the Prefect. When they reached the entrance to the Common Room, the Prefect gestured at it. “She’s outside, waiting.” He paused. “I get the feeling,” he began slowly, “that she’s not going to make it back up to the Gryffs tonight. If that’s the case, there are extra pillows and blankets in one of the storage rooms. Let Marisa know, and she’ll pull out some for you.”

Yāyún didn’t bother with trying to puzzle out who the Prefect meant by Marisa, stepping out of the Common Room with an ease that he had acquired over the last two months. And there, in the little corridor, amongst the barrels, was Aleksandra. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was flushed like she’d been crying. But she didn’t look sad, or afraid. Her shoulders were squared, and she faced him head on.

“Can I st-st—” she took a deep breath, hands shaking. “Can I stay here tonight?” Yāyún nodded, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Th-thank you.”

He grabbed her hand, and tapped the barrels, letting himself fall as the magic took hold. Aleksandra shrieked, surprised. They landed in a heap, Aleksandra flailing and knocking him over. Someone laughed.

“So you’re the little Gryff firstie that’s probably staying the night,” they remarked. “Nice ta meet you. I’m Marisa Woods, Sixth Year Prefect for Hufflepuff. Come on, up you get.” She tugged them both to their feet. “Now then, you can’t actually stay in his room,” she told Aleksandra, gesturing to Yāyún. “Rules and stuff. _But_ , you _are_ welcome to spend the night in the Common Room itself, or with some of the First Year girls. In any case, I’ve got blankets and pillows on the couch there,” she gestured, “and I’ll help you set up wherever you’d like to sleep.”

“Thank you,” Aleksandra murmured, and Marisa snorted.

“Just doing my job, kiddo. Now, firsties or out here? Neither one’s a good old Hogwarts bed, but we can make it work.”

“Out here, p-please?”

“All righty then, out here it is. Come on, the cot’s over this way. Let’s get you both settled down for the night, yeah? You can talk in the morning, kiddo. It’s curfew.”

And with that, Marisa neatly pushed him towards the stairs to his dorms, a grin on her face. He glowered at her, and she laughed as he obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Some rules, he thought perhaps a bit sullenly, were stupid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. I did _not_ mean to take a year to update this, honestly. And I have yet more bad news for updates, because you're not likely to get another one for this until some time mid-March, because I have a ton of stuff going on right now. Ergh.  
>  If it seems a little choppy, I think it's because my writing style changed this past year--I went from past tense to present tense, and it's odd to write in past tense now. *rolls eyes*  
> And I'm sorry for such a filler chapter after such a long time, but hey. It moves us forward, and supplies character development. I count that as a win.  
> However, I do have some good news, for anyone interested. I have a writing blog now, and am working on a novel! If you'd like to see the blog, you can find it on tumblr, @iwillwritethisbook.


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